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The Dragon

Of Children and Knights

By Rachel Rempel Published 2 years ago Updated 2 years ago 15 min read
1
The Dragon
Photo by James Lee on Unsplash

The school bell rang, signaling the end of the day and Mike’s freedom. He packed his bag, savoring each second he remained within the safe confines of the school.

“Mike.” He turned to his teacher, her warm smile and soft eyes what he imagined his mother had been like. “I need your father to sign this note. Can you bring it back tomorrow?” Mike nodded, taking the folded paper in his hand. The teacher gave him another warm smile and squeezed his shoulder.

“You better move fast or you’ll be late for the bus.” Mike nodded and shouldered his backpack. He shuffled through the hall, his too big shoes dragging on the ground as he made his way to the bus.

Mike sat in his usual seat on the bus, the peeling vinyl of the seat the work of his restless fingers. He hated and loved the bus as it took him to his asylum and doom each day. He counted the stops, the comforting chatter of others around him becoming deafening silence as they each left. At his stop, the bus was quiet, the only sound his pounding heart in his ears.

Mike pushed open the front door to his house, the immaculate front entrance cold and uninviting. He clutched the teacher’s letter in sweaty hands as he walked through the sterile house, the only sounds coming from the den.

His father was yelling on the phone as he entered, face red and puffing with exertion. He caught sight of Mike, the tick in his jaw quickening. He hung up the phone, placing it gently on the desk. His hard eyes studied Mike, Mike resisting the urge to hide from the heat of his gaze. “What do you want?”

Mike handed the note to his father without a word, stepping back and hiding his shaking hands behind his back. His father picked up the letter, eyes scanning, eyebrows coming together the further he read.

“A parent meeting for your grades?” his father asked, puffing through his nose with barely contained rage. “What the hell is this about? Are you failing? How could you be so stupid to fail grade six? Are you even my son?”

Mike’s shoulders rose to his ears, and he stepped back as his father continued to yell, backing himself up the wall and trapping himself as his father came closer, hands in fists and face red. Mike tuned out the onslaught of rage as it assaulted his mind and body, welcoming the darkness.

*****

Sir Michael stood among the other knights, awaiting the announcement from their Queen. His silver armor shone in the midday sun, the heat of the day as hot as the pride for his Queen and Kingdom burned within him.

The bugler announced the Queen’s arrival. She stood on the balcony above them, resting her hands on the rail before her as she smiled down at them.

“Thank you all for coming. The dragon continues to terrorize the Kingdom, burning our fields and taking cattle and sheep.” A loud chorus of disapproval rose from the knights, Sir Michael the loudest among them. “The dragon is moving closer to the villages, and I am concerned for our residents. As a result, you are all being tasked with aiding the outer villages to protect their livestock.. You will be sent in pairs and will help with anything the villages require until the dragon is no longer a threat. Please see the captain of the guard for your placements.”

The knights relaxed as the Queen returned to the castle, each one falling into line for their placement. Sir Michael joined the line, silently urging it to go faster.

“Name?”

“Sir Michael of Firebend.”

Sir Michael envied the Captain’s golden suit, the trademark of the position and Sir Michael’s dreams. The captain paused his rustling and looked up at him.

“Sir Michael of Firebend is to report to Her Majesty The Queen for a special assignment at dusk.”

Sir Michael’s eyebrows rose with surprise. He moved from the line with the dismissive wave of the Captain and returned to his quarters in a trance as he imagined the special assignment in store for him.

*****

Mike picked at his nails as he and his father waited for the teacher. His father tapped his foot, the tick of his jaw marking each passing second.

They both turned their heads to the door as the teacher entered the classroom, sweeping by them to take her place behind her desk.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Grant. I hope I am not taking much time from your day.” Michael glanced at his father, the sound of his grinding teeth audible. Michael shifted to the far edge of his chair, chewing his inner lip.

“Of course not, anything for little Mikey,” his father said, dropping his hand onto Mike’s shoulder and squeezing painfully. “I’m afraid your letter was a bit vague. Is Mikey failing? Because I can assure you that is completely unacceptable and I will do whatever needs to be done to bring his grades back up.”

“Failing? Heavens no. Mike is excelling far beyond any of his peers.” Michael’s eyes widened, eyes flicking to his father to see his own surprised expression mirrored. “We asked you here to discuss the possibility of Mike attending our gifted students program this summer.” The teacher looked at Mike, smiling as she said the words. Hope flared in his chest, bubbling out of control.

“Yes,” Mike blurted. Mike ignored his father’s grip tightening on his shoulder, tensing his arm to not give out under the pressure of his hold.

“Are you sure you have the right kid? Mikey has never excelled in anything before. I’d hate to see the school’s money go to waste just to realize Mikey isn’t what you expected him to be.” The excitement that had flared in Mike’s chest at the prospect of escaping for the summer plummeted into a dark pit with his father’s words.

The teacher’s eyebrows came together, her smile fading.

“Mike consistently tests over ninety-five percent in all subjects. He has a voracious appetite for new information and I can always find him with his nose in a book. The program is a great opportunity and has led to outstanding success in highschool for many of the children in it. It is every day during the summer, from the start of July until school resumes in September. I regret to inform you the program is not at the school’s expense; it would be at yours.”

“Mikey won’t be taking part,” his father said, standing from his chair and pulling Mike up with him. The teacher stood as well, eyes wide at the sudden movement.

“If the concern is the money, I’m sure something can be done.”

“Mikey will not be taking part,” his father said once more, slower, fixing the teacher with the same look he often gave Mike as a warning. “I’m sorry you wasted your time. Good day.”

The teacher’s parting words were lost on Mike’s ears as his father hauled him from the room, fingers digging into the soft flesh of his upper arms. Mike’s feet dragged beneath him as he struggled to keep up with his father leading him out of the school, his shoulder complaining as his father yanked it higher.

His father pushed him into the front seat of the car, Mike’s head hitting against the centre console. He rubbed at the spot as his father walked around the car and took his place behind the wheel.

“You made me take time off work for that?” Mike stayed silent. His father pulled out of the school parking lot, speeding down the road toward their house. “As if you’re smart enough for such a program. Your mother was a stupid whore and you are no better.”

“I’m smarter than you.” Mike wished he could take back the words the moment he said them.

The car slammed to a stop, Mike’s head smashing into the dashboard. His father leaned over the centre console, fisitng Mike’s shirt in his hand. Mike’s head spun, his father’s piercing eyes filling his vision as it cleared, ignoring the warm liquid trickling down the side of his head.

“What did you say?” Mike bit his tongue, controlling himself. His father pushed against his body, the back of Mike’s head hitting the window. “I won’t ask you again. What did you say?” A sneer covered his father’s face when Mike did not answer. With his free hand, his father reached around Mike and opened the door behind him, the hand holding his clothes pushing him backward so his torso hung out the car door.

“If you’re so smart, you can walk home,” his father said and pushed him from the car.

*****

Sir Michael took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders before knocking at the Queen’s office.

“Enter.”

Sir Michael pushed open the heavy door to find the Captain of the Guard and the Queen huddled over a pile of papers at her desk. She looked up at his entrance, giving him a warm smile and beckoning him over.

“Thank you for joining us, Sir Michael. I am sure you are very curious about your special orders.” “Thank you, your Majesty, I am.”

“Come, look.”

Sir Michael stood beside the Queen and looked down at the papers on the table. A large map of the kingdom stretched over the majority, several circles crossed throughout the lands. “We have noticed your hard work and achievements. The Captain was telling me just earlier of the young child you helped to find their parents again. You have proven yourself to be brave, determined, loyal, and fair and the Captain has the highest recommendation of you.”

Sir Michael fought to keep the smile from his face at the Queen’s compliments. “Thank you.”

“I have a special assignment for you. I have posted the other knights around the Kingdom, but I want you to go to the source of the problem,” the Queen said, pointing to a location circled multiple times on the map. “We have reliable information that claims the Dragon’s den is here. I want you to scout this place and kill the dragon.”

Sir Michael’s eyes widened as the words sunk in.

“I have scouted the other locations,” the Captain of the Guard said, “knowing that the safety of the Queen remained in the strength of the knights surrounding her. As everyone is now leaving, I cannot surrender my guard of the Queen to continue my mission. I trust in you to continue it.” Michael squared his shoulder and nodded, containing the joy bursting within him. “Thank you, your Majesty,” Sir Michael said, bowing.

The Captain of the Guard crossed the room, returning with a box half the length of his body. “As you know, the dragon has nearly impenetrable scales,” the captain said. “With the help of multiple black smiths, we have created a weapon that will pierce the dragon’s scales while keeping you safe from a distance.”

The captain opened the box, Sir Michael marveling at the black weapon laying within. At the Queen’s gesture, he took the weapon from the box, balancing the weapon between both hands, surprised at the weight.

“This here is the trigger,” the captain continued. “There are two small cannon balls loaded deep in the barrel here. When you pull the trigger, a reaction will force the cannon balls from the barrel and toward your target.”

Sir Michael lifted the weapons onto his shoulder, the weight resting against it more comfortable than holding it in both hands.

“You will have only one chance, so make sure you are certain you are in the best position to do so before you take the shot.”

Sir Michael nodded, placing the weapon back into the box.

“Your journey begins tomorrow morning,” the Queen said. “I have arranged for a horse and rations to be prepared for your journey.”

“Thank you. I will not fail you, my Queen.” The Queen smiled, “I know you won’t.”

*****

Mike pushed open the door to the house, the squeak of the door echoing through the empty house. The last light of the day cast long shadows through the house from the trees outside as Mike made his way to the bathroom.

He flicked on the light. Dark, dry blood streaked his face from his temple to the collar of his shirt and twigs stuck in his hair. He grazed the swollen lid of his right eye, his tumble into a boulder the source of his injuries. His muscles protested as he cleaned himself, thankful these were not the worst injuries he had sustained. He debated which lie his father would tell the school for his absence tomorrow.

Mike’s breathing stilled and hearing sharpened as the front door squeaked open, then slammed shut. He heard the clink of glass against glass, then his father swearing as a chair tipped over. Michael’s eyes shifted around the room to find a place to hide, or a weapon to use, before his father found him. As the heavy footsteps grew louder, he knew it was futile.

The door crashed open, his father’s figure filling the doorway, beer bottles in each hand.

“I see you made it back,” his father slurred, bottles clinking against the wall as he shifted. Mike watched them with precision. He had nowhere to hide if they became a weapon. His father regarded him and scoffed. “You should have done us both a favour and stayed out there. I never should have kept you. You’re as useless as your mother was, but at least she was good for one thing.”

Anger burned in Mike’s stomach and his fists clenched at his side. His father laughed.

“Did that make you angry, boy? Does the thought of your perfect angel mother being defiled by me make you want to hit me?”

Mike did his best to control his shaking hands, hiding them behind his back. His father laughed again.

“You’ll never be anything. You can’t even stand up for the thing most important to you. Worthless bastard. I should have left you at the fire station the night your mother didn’t come back.” Mike’s shaking stopped and wide eyes snapped to his father’s. “You really believed me all these years that she was dead? She left you here, Mikey. She never wanted you.”

Mike could no longer control himself as he launched himself at his father, raining fists missing their target until landing square on his father’s jaw. He managed one more hit to the other side of his father’s face before he was pushed back. He fell against the cold porcelain of the tub and looked up in time to see the raised beer bottle fly toward him.

The first bottle missed his head by inches; the second did not. He welcomed the darkness as the yelling changed to deafening silence and the pain dulled with sharp relief.

*****

The journey to the dragon’s den was long. Sir Michael dismounted his horse, wiping the sweat from his brow as he fed the horse. He had stopped at the bottom of the ravine where the dragon was rumored to lie. The surrounding land was barren, the stumps of burnt trees black and brittle. Sir Michael felt the weight of the weapon at his back, the weight in his stomach equal. He tied the horse, promising a quick return before continuing forward on his own. Sir Michael smelled the dragon before he saw it, the scent of carrion invading his nostrils and making his eyes water. He followed the smell until he came to the entrance of a cave, smoke rising from the entrance. He took the weapon from its holster, holding it at his waist as he rounded the corner into the smoking cave.

The dragon lay sleeping, shining green scales as large as his arm shimmering in the sliver of sunlight coming through the entrance to the cave. Smoke rose from its nostrils with each snore, the dragon’s nostrils as large as a man. Sir Michael stepped forward, sending a bone scattering along the dirt floor. The dragon snorted, a golden eye fluttering open, fixing Sir Michael in a paralysis

Sir Michael tried with all his might to lift the weapon in his hand, but it remained at his side as the dragon rose from his slumber, towering above him larger than the Queen’s castle. The dragon spread his wings, the force of the wind sending Sir Michael stumbling backward. He regained his footing as the dragon stepped forward.

“What are you doing, boy?” The voice of the dragon filled his head, heart racing and blood running cold. The dragon’s snort of laughter when he did not move pulled Sir Michael from his paralysis. He narrowed his eyes, raising the weapon to his shoulder, aiming for the dragon’s chest.

“What should have been done a long time ago,” he replied.

Sir Michael pulled the trigger and watched as his silver armour melted away to bare arms, weapon clattering to the wood floor beneath him. The cannon balls struck the dragon, crimson blood blossoming like a rose upon his chest as he slumped to the floor.

Mike ventured forward cautiously as he watched the deepening red of the blood on his chest, watching as the breaths came slower until they stopped altogether. Mike locked eyes with his father’s, their cold lifelessness freeing.

The dragon was dead.

Fantasy
1

About the Creator

Rachel Rempel

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