Dragonslayer
by David Harker
Gawain was
hunting deer in the valley high above the
settlement and had just aimed an arrow at the
chest of a magnificent stag. Suddenly the stag
raised its head, listened intently for a moment
then bounded off into the forest. Gawain cursed
the wasted time and effort and was about to break
cover when the sky above him darkened. A huge
blue dragon soared overhead and headed off down
the valley towards his father’s castle. With
fear and dread in his heart he leapt from cover
and began running down the valley toward the
village he called home.
Slipping and
stumbling along the way, the journey seemed to
take forever but finally he burst through the
undergrowth and skidded to a halt. What had once
been a peaceful community now lay in ruins; the
cloying, sulphurous stench of dragon flame filled
the air. Crows picked at the charred remains of
friends and family lying all around, fire-ravaged
buildings crackled and sputtered in the gentle
breeze. He sank to his knees, his anguished sobs
competing with his body’s desperate need for
air after the long run. As his tears abated
Gawain became aware of a groan that was coming
from a smouldering oxcart at the gates of the
village. Walking towards the cart, he saw
movement from within and struggled to maintain
his composure when he realised that what he
thought were charred and bloody rags was in fact
Gudrun, his family’s faithful servant.
“I’m
sorry my lord”, Gudrun struggled to get the
words out. His hideously burnt torso and arms had
stuck to the floor of the cart and he screamed
with agony when Gawain tried to lift the man to
offer him some water.
“Taken by
surprise… Master Grimwald was… eaten
alive when he tried to fight the beast. Your
sister… the Lady Erithea told me to find you
and to warn y….”.
Gudrun's eyes
glazed and his pain-wracked body gave a final
shudder as his soul departed to join his
ancestors. As Gawain muttered the words of
committal over Gudrun’s body, a rage grew
inside him like nothing he’d ever
experienced before. He had always been a shy,
scholarly and sensitive soul, his lack of nerve
and spirit made him the last to be picked in
warrior challenges. Now however the fire that had
destroyed his family, burned savagely within him,
and he vowed vengeance on the blue dragon,
Minathyr.
The journey up
the mountain to Minathyr’s lair was arduous,
but his need for revenge kept him going. At last
the trees gave way to blackened granite cliffs
into which a huge ornate doorway had been cut.
Still shrugging on the ancient armour that had
been gifted to his family after the Middle Earth
war, Gawain strode manfully toward the door, his
father’s elven sword glowing brightly in the
presence of pure evil. Carved into the lintel,
ancient runes shone with foul malevolence.
Gawain glanced
up at the runes and couldn't resist his scholarly
desire to understand. He reached into his pack
and drew out his compact English-Runic-English
dictionary and flipped through its thumb-worn
pages.
Sudden
comprehension combined with a deep rumbling roar
from within the cave; he screamed like a maiden
and ran, for the translation read;
“Do not
meddle in the affairs of dragons, for you are
crunchy and taste good with ketchup.”
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