The Toddler & The Dragon Tavern

Vanesa placed her hand against the door, took a quick breath, and pushed it open. Warmth wrapped around her as she entered the tavern. There were two hearths, one buried into the wall off to the left and one to the right. Artifacts decorated the walls. The bar faced her on the far side of the building. The layout drew her towards the tables situated in the center of the building as if being drawn into a loving embrace.

She looked for the owner or owners. It would be difficult; the tavern was packed. Men and women crowded around the tables while serving girls, adorned with a red pendant suspended around their neck, zipped through the masses. She spotted them, the owners, sitting at the table farthest away.

She moved towards them.

“Hold there missy,” a large hand rested on her shoulder. Her hand flew to the dagger at her waist and she rounded on her attacker. There was a large man with a cudgel. A wicked scar ran down the left side of his face.

He took a step back. She hesitated.

“Didn’t mean to offend missy. Just that I don’t know you and we’re all related here in Silverglend, you see. Not that I’m opposed to met new people mind you, I like to, I do, I really do, but you being new and all don’t know the rules, do you?”

She slid the bone handled knife back into its scabbard without spilling blood. She was in a town, a proper town now. It was a safe place, or at least it was supposed to be. The man at the door was here to throw out drunks and greet guests. The cudgel was worn, but worn with time, not use.

“Tell me! What rules?” That was too harsh. She shook her head and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’ve traveled far and am tired. All I want is to talk to the owners over a drink. Is that them over there?”

“You’ve got good eyes missy. That is them. But you can’t just go to them, not tonight. You see, it’s a kind of anniversary. The Toddler and The Dragon opened nineteen years ago, this very night and we have a tradition, yes, we do. Tell a story about the tavern’s namesake and if your story is the best, you move to the next table. Only those with the best of the bests of stories get to sit with the owners.”

“There must be twenty tables in here. It would take all night-”

“Drinks are on the house for those who wish to participate, you see.”

“Where do I start?” she asked. Rules were rules after all.

The man smiled. It was crooked, but she couldn’t help returning it.

“That one is table one. There is table two and you go until you get to table four. Then you wrap around like a serpent, but it won’t be easy, you see. Many people in Silverglend spend all year perfecting their stories. You will need a quick tongue and a catching ending, yes, you will. And no using other people’s stories, it must be your own.”

She moved to the appointed table. Six people gathered around it despite it only having four chairs. An old copper grail sat as a center piece. She took a mug from one of the passing girls and drank deeply. That seemed to calm her nerves. She moved next to the young man telling his story…

“That’s when Drake the Dragon heard the cries. A wailing toddler, alone in the woods. Easy pray for the mighty beast. He swooped down and landed before the child, who, upon seeing the red scaled serpent, cried all the louder. Drake’s teeth snarled something fierce like.”

“How could his teeth snarl? Do they have little mouths of their own?” Vanesa asked. The others around the table shot daggers at her with their eyes. Not going to make any new friends here; she’d hope this time it would be different.

“Fine,” the boy said. “Drake snarled something fierce like. His teeth as sharp as twelve daggers.”

Vanesa opened her mouth. The grayed hair woman sitting across the table violently raised a finger to her lips. Oh, fine, she’d let the whelp finish his story, even if sharpness wasn’t measured by how many sharp things you had, but how easily the thing you had, could cut.

“Drake bit the toddler in half and gobbled him up whole. The end.”

There was a small round of applause for that disaster of a story. She spoke before the woman could raise her finger again. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to ask how you can gobble something up whole after you’ve already bitten it in half. No, I won’t ask that, but is that really your ending? I mean it has so much promise besides the shocking, yet totally realistic, ending.”

“Really, promise? Aaron’s story?” a middle age man to the right asked. “All it had was an ending and no build up. And Jake, it’s bad manners to say little Lucy got eaten by the dragon.”

“But that is where the promise lies, in the potential for it to build to something more. Keep the story exactly the same, well, maybe not exactly, anyways, let that be the beginning. Over the next few days give hints that the dragon slowly starts to act more and more like a human toddler. At the climax, the dragon flies over the town the child was from, I guess Silverglend, which is being attacked by raiders or worse. Normally the dragon would just keep flying, but it spots a woman, the child’s mother. A protective feeling overcomes the dragon and he swoops in and saves the town. At the conclusion of the battle, the transformation is complete and the mind of the dragon has been replaced by that of the toddler. You are what you eat. Or if you prefer something more grown up well, they say a dragon can’t change its scales, well, they do.”

They all looked impressed. It wasn’t that hard, she had lots of practice taking something horrible and making the best of it. No need to dolly, though she really didn’t tell a story of her own, but nobody looked like they would stop her, so she moved to the next table. Five boys no older than 16 sat around it, whispering about something. A bronze statue of half a mermaid sat in the center.

“A traveler,” one of them said, noticing her. “And look it’s a girl.”

“That’s no girl,” a lanky boy with unkept hair said. “That there is a woman.”

“How can you tell Jeff? Her hood’s up and you can barely see her face,” a freckled face boy asked.

“It’s not the face that tells you that she’s a woman.”

“Jeff, was it? Do you like trees? The last boy who looked at me that way did. So, I took him out into the forest and nailed him to one. I wonder if he’s still there or if the wolves found him, because his friends certainly won’t. True story, and speaking of stories aren’t one of you supposed to be sharing your lame one?”

There was a collective gulp before they all looked at a small boy whose eyes were staring at the table.

“Go ahead Randle, tell the woman your story. That should convince her we aren’t lame,” said the boy that had noticed her.

Randle looked between the other boys. “It’s not really a story, just a concept, but okay. Imagine a forest, not unlike the one at the end of the road, but darker. A lot darker. So dark that at noon you have to hold your hand right in front of your face to see it, that kind of dark. There are foot steps that lead into the darkness, but they don’t come out. They are small and entice you to follow them. They wander this way and that, sometimes towards the edge of the forest and sometimes towards its heart, but no matter where they wander, they wander in darkness.

“The footsteps finally end. Not in a clearing, for there are none, but at a toddler. You could say she was lost, but that wouldn’t be correct, because something that was lost can be found. You could say hope abandoned her, but that implies there was hope at the start. You could say she was at the mercy of the Dragon, but that implies the Dragon is merciful to those who wander into its forest.”

“Tell her the twist, tell her,” Jeff said as he jabbed an elbow into Randle’s side.

The edge of Randle’s lip raised into a small smile. “The Dragon isn’t the mythical beast. Nobody’s seen one in over three hundred years, so I think it must be an acronym. Dangerous Ravenous Angry Grim Odious Northmen. Northmen because that is from where the Blood Mages came. But that is where the concept ends. I don’t know where to go from there.”

“How about in a twist of fate, the Northmen decide to take the toddler in and teach her blood magic?” Vanesa said. “Told right, it makes for an excellent story, though you should really rethink about dragons just being a myth.”

“Hmmm,” Randle hummed to himself. She didn’t wait and moved on. That was two tables, not very difficult, but left eighteen to go. She glanced at the tavern door. It remained shut but to be safe… she quietly slid over to table seven. Rules were there to be ignored.

Everyone had leaned in around the table with a silver mirror in its center to listen to an old man’s story. She did likewise and took another sip of her drink. The man’s voice had a grandfather like quality. She had missed the part where the dragon found the toddler, but arrived for the description of the lair to which the child was brought.

“The air was dry and a thin layer of dust covered everything. It coated the basalt wall and swirled on the marble floor. It tickled little Lucy’s nose, but most of all it laid like a cozy blanket over the rows upon rows of books.

“I know what you are thinking, dragons can’t read so why would there be books? Well, if anyone of you would read one you would know that dragons are hoarders of treasure and there are few treasures more valuable than knowledge. So, you could say, this dragon had gathered one of the greatest treasures of all.

“That is where Lucy is now. Deep in the dragon’s library with her nose pinched to keep from breathing in all the dust covering the book that she is enjoying. The end.”

There was a round of applause and the man lowered the paper from which he had been reading. He removed his spectacles and shared appreciative looks between several of the older patrons. Then his eyes met hers.

“You, traveler, look like you don’t believe my story.”

All eyes turned to her. Good, if she played this right maybe she’d be able to skip a few more tables. But something held her back, “Life doesn’t end like that, but, if it brings you peace…”

Concern passed over the man’s face. “How do you think my story should end, according to your all-knowing life?”

“Blood or fire. At some point the dragon would sneeze and the library would go up in flames. Otherwise, the Blood Mages would take it. They love power and riches and would never, ever, let such treasure lay in someone else’s hands.”

“But life continues after tragedy,” the old man said, looking to an empty chair next to him. “What happens to Lucy after the Library was burned or taken?”

“Revenge,” she said. “The dragon would take Lucy all over the world to seek revenge for the loss of his hoard. I know, you are wondering why Lucy would go with the dragon, well maybe they developed a bond over the years and she could use the… knowledge she had gained to help him set things right.”

“But how does it end?”

“I don’t know.”

“Fair enough. Who would like to share their story next? How about our traveler? Clark, your story about where babies come from and how its dragons, not storks, that deliver them from the forest can wait. As can yours Mark about how Lucy was taken to work in a gold mine for the evil dragon, though I do like how she leads a rebellion at the end. Hank, get up, let the girl sit.”

She took the vacated seat and placed her mug on the table. Now, what story should she tell? It had to be good, it seemed like the whole tavern was listening, even the serving girls. Perhaps one from across the sea. Nobody from around here would know it.

“There was a little girl who had-”

“Lucy,” the old gentleman said. “Her name is Lucy. Father’s name is Edmond and mother’s is Olive.”

“Right, so… Lucy had wandered into the forest in the dead of night-”

“How did she get lost in the forest? I mean she had parents, old man Jaren just said so,” Aaron blurted out.

“They were away or something.”

“Do the blood mages eat her and sew her skin into a hat? They do that you know,” Jeff said.

“NO! The dragon actually gave the… Lucy, a gift of three magic beans-”

“That grew all the way to the clouds where giants live, right?”

The owner and his wife had wandered over. Now was her chance.

“You have something…”

He raised a hand and stopped her. “First your story. Tell me what happened to my little Lucy, then we can talk about what I have that you want. And don’t try to use one you heard out there,” he pointed at the door. “I too have traveled the world. They have some good ones, but none have your unique perspective to color it. Share with us your color.”

Her eyes went to the door. It remained closed. She glanced around the room, eyes stopped on a few of the artifacts, before they finally rested on the mirror at the center of her table. She took a deep breath and told her story, with the color that shaded it.

“Red. But we will get to that color. We start with brown. Everything that Lucy’s father brought back from his adventures was brown. He thrilled in finding the thing, not really about what the thing was. It was Lucy’s mother Olive who would meticulously clean the brown thing her husband brought home. It was her that changed the brown thing to shiny gold, silver, or copper. It was her who sold an ancient bronze pot, or golden form of some deity that everyone had forgotten, while Edmond left to find another thing.

“Well, one time, when he left, he didn’t leave his wife or child behind. Blue was the sea, deeper blue than Lucy had ever seen. Next came green and gold. He took them deep, deep into that green forest. He set up tents for shade against the harsh golden sun. Brown was for the ruins that he led them to; covered in brown vines and browner mud. Olive wanted to uncover the grey stone that laid beneath, but Edmond wouldn’t let her, it was too dangerous.

“Black were the two days that he spent alone beneath the brown. Black, not for the darkness that he entered, but for the darkness that entered Olive. She was fraught with worry, more so, being so close, but unable to help. At least when Edmond had left before, she could pretend he was somewhere safe, but not now. Now, she knew he was in that black. Black too dangerous to uncover.

“What color is pure relief and joy, maybe yellow? Whatever color it is it was the brightest and strongest of colors when he emerged with a bag full of brown things. They spent the rest of the day exploring the forest under the golden sun. Green moss grew on the logs they crawled through. Violet were the wings of the butterflies they saw. Pink were the flowers they picked.

“Orange was for the fire they ate their dinner around that night. Lucy’s father told her stories that made her laugh and her mother worked to bring some of the brown things to color. They went to bed early so they could leave early in the morning. Lucy fell asleep right between her mom and dad.

“Something woke her in the middle of the night. Maybe it was the howl of a wolf or maybe it was just a cricket. Anyway, it had pulled her from her dream. A dream where she had been deep in the forest, surrounded by violet butterflies. They were so pretty and would just make for the best pet ever. She moved to the flap of the tent and peaked out. It was black, like the black of when her father was deep in the ruins.

“It is easier to catch a butterfly when it was asleep, she told herself. But it was so dark. Something caught her eye. It seemed to glow, so she took it to hold back the darkness. She took it from the bag of things that her mother had brought back to color. It was a pendant attached to a gold chain.

“The pendant had fooled Lucy, because once she had left the light of the campfire, it did not glow. She held in front of her anyways, waiting for it to glow once more, as she dove deeper into the blackness.

“It didn’t take long before Lucy had given up on finding a pet butterfly. It took much longer for her to give up on finding her way back to her mother and father. She sunk next to the truck of a tree long dead and cried. She cried with everything her little frame could muster. She cried even after her eyes had run out of water to dribble down her little cheeks. That crying is why she didn’t hear it and probably what drew it to her.

“Orange was the color of the flames that licked out of the dragon’s maw as it stood before Lucy. It was bigger than any creature Lucy had ever seen. It was so big, she thought that if she just held still, something so big wouldn’t be able to see something so small as her. It couldn’t eat her if it couldn’t see her. She was wrong. Wrong to go chasing butterflies in the middle of the night. Wrong to think the pendant would give her light. Wrong to think that the dragon wouldn’t eat her.

“It moved closer to gobble her up. The fire dripping from the dragon’s fangs was the last thing Lucy would ever see. The dragon stopped. Lucy cracked an eye to see the dragon looking at her, no at what she was holding in front of her. The pendant. The dragon recognized what Lucy had not about the pendant. A treasure unlike any the dragon had in his hoard. A treasure unlike any dragon had ever had in its hoard and greed stopped it from devouring Lucy. It needed her to work the pendant. A pendant blood RED.”

Crack!

A man stood in the open tavern door. “Blood Mages!”

“Why would Blood Mages come here?” the owner asked. His eyes darted around the walls of his tavern, full of his things.

“Me,” Vanesa said. She stood up amidst the pale faced townsfolk. “You have something they wish to use against me and my companion. Something I wish to add to my own hoard. Don’t worry, I won’t let them take it.”

She gulped down the rest of her drink and moved to the tavern door. All eyes were locked on her. She pretended that they were watching her because of her riveting story, but she knew better. Sooner or later, no matter where she went, all eyes looked at her that way. What color was the color of fear?

White. Three men dressed in the purest of white were walking towards the tavern. They stopped when she stepped out.

“Hello boys, surprised to see me? You shouldn’t. You lot are horrible at keeping secrets. All I had to do was kill three of you and pin the fourth to a tree. He told me all about your little plan here. I didn’t even have to push him that hard.”

“And you still came?” the one in the middle said. They all drew pins and pricked their finger. “Foolish.”

“Now, come on boys, you will need more blood than that.” She drew her dagger and slit her palm. She felt eyes on her back. People were peeking out of the tavern.

The three Blood Mages in unison dropped their pins and drew daggers and slashed the palms of their own hands. “You are the one who will need more blood. We three almost make two whole pendants.”

“When will you ever learn? All your broken pieces can never match the whole, unblemished one.”

The Blood Mages lashed out. Drops of blood flew from their palms. The drops became as long and thin as needles, with enough force behind them to pierce even the thickest of leathers. Vanesa didn’t hesitate. Blood flew from her palm and coalesced between her and the attack. The blood needles impacted her shield and shattered. She let her blood shield become liquid and shot drops of needles of her own. Where her attackers had sent seven to ten each, she sent a hundred.

Their shields were too small to block all of her needles, but she only shattered the one on the left. He was dead. Unfortunate, but that was the only way to stop them. The others were just hurt. Blood leaked from their wounds, adding to their attack.

The one on the right shot needles at her while the other one shot a rope of his blood at her left ankle. The idea was to wrap around an ankle and pull it out from under your foe. It’s easier to kill them when they are distracted by falling. Stupid really, just send a blood spear to sever the ankle. She blocked both attempts and her retaliatory attack killed the guy on the right.

The lone Blood Mage howled and slit his wrists. She slit her other palm and prepared for the onslaught that was to come from the man’s gushing blood. He had to be careful or he would lose too much and faint. Fainting in the middle of a battle never ended well.

The Blood Mage must have had almost a whole pendant because he shot two blood spears at her. Almost and having one were not even close. They smashed against her shield and her return spear pierced his heart.

There was a clap. Then another and another. They didn’t come from the townsfolk in the tavern behind her, but from deeper in the town. One by one, men dressed in white with a red pendant walked out from behind buildings. She stopped counting at twenty. Oh boy.

The boy she’d pinned to the tree didn’t tell her there would be so many. She slit her wrists and started slinging blood spears. She only managed to get two out before she had to use her blood to defend herself. Wave after wave of needles, spears, and even a few lances pounded away at her shield. She kept replacing the chips being formed in her shield by the constant assault and the blood that fell away because it had been outside her body for too long. It took all her concentration and blood to stay alive. If she could just…

She moved blood to block a lance aimed at her ankle. She wanted to turn that blob into a lance of her own, but she had to move it to guard her other ankle before a spear took it off. They just kept coming and coming. There were just too many of them and she didn’t have… enough… blood…

A loud roar broke through the sky.

The attacks against her stopped. She tried transforming her shield into needles. Not even two dozen haphazardly flew from it. She dared not use any fresh blood, lest she faint. There must be fifty Blood Mages.

Thud!

Uthraco landed in their mists. His body crushed three. His tail whipped, taking four more. Fire spewed from his jaws, consuming an additional two. Blood lances shattered against his scales. He swatted or consumed those foolish enough to get in his way. Soon he was between the mages and his treasure.

The Blood Mages quickly focused their spears and lances at the dragon’s weak points, his eyes, ears, nose, and wings. Uthraco folded his wings to keep them safe and lashed out with fire. A blood rope shot forward and wrapped around the dragon’s jaws. With a roar, he opened his mouth and shattered the rope.

More ropes followed. Uthraco charged. Ropes wrapped around his legs. There were just so many of them. Vanesa had to help him. She pulled her blood from her wrists and shot a spear at the nearest mage. He fell as did his rope. She sunk to her knees, taking deep breaths. She couldn’t faint. She couldn’t. Too much was at stake.

A muffled roar was silenced as blood covered the dragon’s enormous maw.

Uthraco needed her.

She didn’t have the blood to defeat these mages, but maybe she could free Uthraco. She lashed out with everything she had left. Blood flew all around her. She didn’t form it into spears or lances, just two large columns of blood. One per side of the dragon to cut the ropes holding him. It would have to be enough because she had nothing left. She took one last breath and waited for the darkness to take her.

She waited…

And waited…

The darkness didn’t come. Uthraco roared. She opened her eyes. Uthraco was free, but new ropes were being thrown. She sent spears at the mages and needles flew past her shoulders. How was that possible? She looked at her wrists. The blood didn’t come from there, but from behind her. She looked over her shoulder.

There stood the people of Silverglend. They must have come out of the tavern to watch the battle. Shock coated their faces and blood dripped from their palms. She saw movement, a dagger. It was passed between the townsfolk and one by one they sliced their palms.

The tavern owner smiled at her, then pointed past her and cried, “Lucy, look out!”

She tapped the blood freely given to block the spear aimed at her. She sent a spear back at the mage. Then another, followed by a lance. That killed him. She turned her attention to the rest and commenced the work of death. She flung spears and lances around her shield, keeping Uthraco free from ropes.

Occasionally she glanced behind her to make sure she wasn’t taking too much blood from a single person.

It seemed like eternity, yet like only a few minutes before the Blood Mages broke in full retreat. Uthraco chased after them. A dragon’s wrath knew no mercy. There weren’t enough of them left to pose any serious threat to Uthraco, so she let him go and turned back towards the tavern.

“Lucy, can you ever forgive us,” her parents cried. They just stood there. Fear in their eyes. They were afraid of her, but not like how others were afraid. They were afraid of what words she would say next. She’d thought about this moment, who knows how many times, but now that it was here, she stood silent.

“Oh, Lucy. I’m so sorry I left you and your mother looking for treasure. I’m sorry that I took you with me. I can’t forgive myself for not noticing when you slipped from the tent that night.”

“We never stopped looking for you,” her mother said. Some of her cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces and nephews began to wrap bandages around their hands. Her parents just stood there waiting for her to say something. For her to move. For her to do anything.

Finally, she found enough moisture to speak. “Nineteen years. That’s a long time to spend with a dragon. I’ve changed. I’m no longer the little girl you used to know. I’ve seen things, done things. Sometimes I think I’m more like a dragon than a human. I’ve always felt the need to hoard treasure. Uthraco treasures power. For a time, I thought I did too. Then I thought I was like my father who treasured adventure, but no. Maybe like my mother who treasures restoring that which was lost. That didn’t do it for me either. I didn’t figure out what my treasure, the thing I need to hoard above all else regardless of the cost, until just a few days ago. When the Blood Mage told me he had discovered what village I was from and who my parents were… That they were going to use you to make me give them my pendant…

“Blood. I treasure blood. My blood.”

Lucy rushed forward and embraced her parents. She felt their arms wrap around her and they cried together. Their cries continued as more arms and bodies joined them. She welcomed them all. She was finally home.

Blood of her blood.

She would hoard it all.