The Dragon Master’s Apprentice

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Simon had grown up hearing the myths about magical creatures. As a young child, he had listened to the ancient stories around the communal village fire. But he had never seen one. They had always just been myths; stories to scare young children.

And then the dragons had arrived. To begin with, they had been hard to spot. Tiny objects flying so high in the sky that they were barely noticeable. Blink and you missed them. But in recent years, they had got braver, flying lower, on occasion even landing. Then they had begun to eat the village livestock. At first, a single goat would go missing. The farmers would go out hunting, to flush out the suspected wolf. But no wolves were ever found. They too were little more than myths in the Valley. Then a dragon was seen, teeth clamped around a lifeless cow and the truth was known. Soon, whole herds of cattle were disappearing in the night.

Still, it had been a surprise, the day the King’s men had turned up at his father’s house. Simon had never seen a soldier before and there, in front of his father’s house, stood a whole platoon: helmets and shields shining in the morning sun.

But the greatest surprise had been the boy, John. He already knew who Simon was. John asked probing questions about his work on the farm and with the animals. He knew as well about Simon’s gift. He already knew that Simon could hear the thoughts of animals. How this helped him to heal the cattle of the village. But Simon had never told anyone of this gift. It had been a secret he held close to his chest, for fear of being branded a witch. Yet this boy, this stranger, spoke to him about his healing work, as if hearing the thoughts of animals was the most normal thing in the world.

And then he had left, leaving instructions for Simon to make his way to the castle at Harburn, the seat of the King, once he was fourteen years old. And here he was, one week after his fourteenth birthday, sat on the crest of a hill, at the side of the road to Harburn, taking one last look at his childhood Valley below. It was all he had ever known. Everyone he knew in the entire world lived in that Valley. Simon took one final sip from his hide water-bottle, stood up and turned his back on his Valley; at least, for now. Maybe, one day, he would return.

The road to Harburn was long and boring, flanked on either side by thick woods of broad-leaved trees. Simon imagined they held bandits, waiting to pounce on their next unsuspecting victim. He also imagined them looking out at a fourteen year old boy, walking along with a battered old canvas knap-sack slung across his back. Imagined them thinking he wasn’t worth the effort, as he wouldn’t be carrying anything of worth. And they would have been right.

Simon continued along the road to Harburn in very much the same manner, walking instinctively while daydreaming about bandits, castles and Kings. The road was, in the main, empty. He was so busy daydreaming that, on the rare occasion a waggon came along the dirt lane, the driver ended up shouting at him to move out of the way.

It was in such a dream state that Simon first noticed the sound. It was a pulse, like the heart of a rabbit but far deeper. Similar to the beat of a cow but far larger. It was the sound of a vast, powerful muscle pushing viscous, magical blood rapidly around a gigantic body.

The pulse grew louder, as if the animal was getting nearer. The sound grew in intensity, pounding in his brain like the worst of headaches. Simon clamped his head between his hands, to stop his head from splitting open. Each pulse became like a hammer blow in his brain, pounding the very soul from his being. Simon closed his eyes and dropped to his knees: the pulse surrounding him, beating him to the ground. He did not see but could feel the absence of heat as a large, dark shadow eclipsed the sun. He felt the ground shake, as something large struck the road ahead of him, nearly breaking the earth.

Slowly, Simon opened his eyes. His head still felt like it was about to split in two, but the intensity of the pulse had abated a little. Simon raised his eyes from the dirt of the road and his heart froze. On the road in front of him, almost near enough to touch, were an enormous set of pointed teeth, attached to a dragon.

It was huge. If it wanted to, it could have swallowed him whole but it didn’t. It just crouched there, as if ready to pounce but looking at him intently. Simon stared back. He had never seen a dragon before and its proximity was frightening. He was engulfed by the meaty stench of its breathe. If he hadn’t been frozen with fear, the stink of rotten flesh would have made him retch. Simon’s full attention, at this point, was channelled into his sight. He was transfixed by the dragon’s scales, which he could see running the length of the beast’s neck. They were emerald green and shimmered in a way that hypnotised Simon. Sunlight danced off the dragon’s scales like the morning light off a mountain stream, giving the impression of constant motion.

‘Are you the Dragon Master?’ The voice didn’t come from the creature but appeared directly in Simon’s brain. Simon parted his lips but no words came out.

‘Dragon Master?’ insisted the voice impatiently. ‘Are you the Dragon Master?’

‘No,’ Simon managed in barely as whisper.

The dragon looked at him, in what Simon considered a quizzical manner, then spread its wings and took off in a cloud of dust and flying stones.

Once the dust had settled, Simon found himself once more alone on the empty road to Harburn. He sat down gingerly at the side of the road, took out his water-bottle and had a long hard think about what had just happened.