Damsel Knight (4 page)

By the time she makes it off of the field of bones, she knows her face must be as white as some of the bones themselves. She pushes the fear aside. A knight has to be brave and strong. If she ever wants to be a knight like her father she can't afford to act like a weak woman.

Then she looks up at what's before her and fear consumes her again.

This close the castle looks magnificent. The single tower rises far into the sky, taller than any building Bonnie has ever seen other than the palace. But that's not what catches her eye. In front of the rest of the castle - a large stone building with an open front like a giant fancy barn - a dragon lies stretched out in the sun, cat like. It's huge, bigger than the round house she'd called home for so long. Its scales, the deep crimson of blood, glint as its large side moves up and down. Every now and again its tail twitches.

It has its back to her, but that won't last for long.

So much for size of a large hound.

Bonnie reaches her hands into the field of bones, grasping a helmet. She tries a few before she finds one without a skull in it. It wobbles loosely on her head, but she can see enough to swing a sword and it should provide some protection. Then she grabs a shield, much larger and heavier than the wooden one that had fallen from her arm. Added to her sword, the weight of it all makes her stagger. She pushes on and finds her stride, though the shield and sword make her arms ache.

She ignores the bones as she creeps past them. She doesn't want to think about the bones in that pile that once grasped the shield as she is now, and wore the helmet teetering on her head.

Her father used to talk of dragons often. Some were as small as kittens, he said, and some as large as whole villages. She'd never believed they could grow so big, but now she's starting to.

Were it not for the gleaming red scales and the way his side rises and falls she would think him a hill, not a dragon. Even lying down his height is taller than any building she's seen apart from the tower and King's palace. His head is as tall as the peak of the roof of their roundhouse, his middle at least four times as tall and nearly as wide. His length from nose to tip of his tail is as long as every building in her village set wall to wall.

He's come a long way from the hound sized dragon she'd last seen four years ago.

She breathes deep, trying to push the terror down. She grips her father's sword tight. Giant or not, fire breather or not, it's sleeping. It's vulnerable. She can kill it. She will be a knight, and she'll have paid for the mistake she made long ago.

It doesn't stir as she moves closer. Its breathing is deep and even, like the waves of an ocean washing over her. Its claws are each as thick and sharp as her sword. Wings bigger than sails shuffle together in its sleep, making a noise like autumn leaves settling on the ground.

She walks right up to its head, keeping her body low and ready to run. Her heart increases in volume until she can't hear the dragon's breaths even though she's close enough to feel them.

You never can tell how tough those scales are, her father had told her once. They're usually softer on the stomach and under the jaw, but if you get them there there's no telling whether it’s going to be a fatal wound or if the dragon is going to snap your neck for giving it a flesh wound. No, he said, if you get the chance then you try for the eye or inside the mouth. Only way to know you're going to do some real damage.

She's close enough now to see the intricate patterns of the scales around its jaws. Its chin is on the grass, tilted sideways slightly so the only way she can reach the eyes is if she reaches upward when she stabs. She'll have to drive the blade in fast so she kills it instead of half blinding it.

Warm breath rolls over her, flattening all the grass and flowers for a good distance before they lean back toward the beast as it takes a breath in.

Its eye, as big as her head flutters from side to side under the red lid as if it's dreaming. Bonnie heaves the sword up on her tired arm to strike, then hesitates inches from the eye. Everything about the dragon has changed, and nothing has. Its red eyelid is bordered with lashes of the deepest black, but she knows their colour is pale compared to the colour of its eyes. All at once she's stuck by the intense need to see those eyes one last time.

Bonnie takes a deep breath, closing her eyes and picturing the blood, how alone she'd felt sailing away from the city she'd known in Jack's boat. A familiar rage fills her, but then other images intrude. Her, five years old, staring in fascination at the crate her papa had brought home. Her pudgy fingers reach out toward it, and it shudders under her hands.

No. No. A knight has no place for mercy. Mercy is for women, weak women who let men control their lives. She won't be like that. She can't be like that.

She draws back the sword, and heaves it forward with all of her strength.

Somewhere to her left comes a defeating 'moo.' It's so out of place that she's caught off guard, the force going out of her swing.

The eye opens, and the ground shudders.

Chapter 5

Bonnie falls backward, her helmet clattering hard on her head. Somehow she manages to keep her grip on the shield and sword.

The dragon rises to its feet screaming. The sound seems to burrow into her head and tear it apart. The ground shakes her like a rag doll, and her ears ring.

A hand tugging the back of her shirt brings her back to her senses in time to see a set of claws cutting through the air toward her. She jumps backward, leaving the heavy shield behind. The air sings behind her as the hand drags her toward the nearest shelter - the castle. Neven. Her eyes sting with tears. Neven came for her. She should've known she could never hide from him when she was up to something. He knew her too well.

Neven stumbles, overbalanced by a large shield he must have plucked from the field of bones. Bonnie grabs his arm tight and pulls him into the lower castle. They dodge behind the nearest pillar.

The lower castle is nothing but wide open space with a stone roof and wide set pillars as thick as trees. It's so huge that shadows crowd the middle, despite the lack of walls,

"I think this is a stable," Neven whispers between gasps. He's looking around the room, white knuckled hands gripping the shield. He's donned his invention, and both the metal shooters stand at attention on his arms. He doesn't notice.

"What do stables have to do with this?" She whispers back. They're about to die and he's thinking about stables. She looks at him, worried the shock may have turned him mad..

"Look, it's got water and food." He points into the darkness where she can just see a large pool of water and beside it on a wooden platform stands a cow. A cow? She blinks but it's still standing there. Well, at least the moo sound now makes sense.

"We're in its home," Bonnie says, letting her helmet fall back against the pillar. "And it's supper time."

"Jack must have given the tree enough teeth," Neven says. Some of the fear leaves his face as he stares at the creature. "I knew you could use magic to get food, clothes, but not whole animals."

He's leaning forward to get a better look. Bonnie pulls him back against the pillar hard. "Not the time Neven."

As if to prove her point the dragon roars behind them. There's a scuffling sound, and the disconcerting noise of claws against stone. Bonnie turns to look, but soon wishes she hadn't.

The dragon pushes his way into the castle. Its head and back score against the stone roof, sending a wave of rubble behind it, the people who built this place must have underestimated how big he'd grow, just like she had.

She's struck by its eyes. Other than the size, they're just the same as she remembers. Big and completely black from pupil to what should be the whites of its eyes. Neven told her a theory once about magic vacuums, that if the world were to try and magic something that was beyond price then the magic would keep taking and taking until the whole world was gone. He says there's proof out there in space of planets that tried it. Great black vacuums that have eaten their planets and are still hungry, reaching out to pull more planets, suns, and even light to try and sate their never ending hunger,

That's what the red dragon's eyes look like, black vacuums reaching out to consume her. She feels the world tilt beneath her feet, filled with an overwhelming desire to walk toward the creature.

Then the dragon draws back its head, puffing out its chest like a bullfrog. It opens gleaming jaws to reveal a distant glow in the back of its throat. Bonnie's eyes widen and she throws herself back on the other side of the pillar, drawing Neven close to her side.

Flames wrap around them in a torrent of heat and noise. Bonnie feels her skin prickle until it sears with pain. She closes her eyes to the blue and red flames licking past the edges of the pillar either side of them. She tries to ignore the stone boiling against her back.

When it stops Neven is crouching by her side, tucked behind his shield with his face screwed up like he's trying not to cry. She grabs his arm, cursing herself for bringing her father's sword and not the shield all those years ago. Her father always taught her that on the battlefield, when it came down to it, the shield was a far more important weapon than a sword. Then again, he'd been speaking of battles against men at the time. She doubts he ever thought she'd fight a dragon.

She pulls him behind another pillar just in time as another barrage of fire surrounds them. The cow stands one pillar to their left. It looks up at them, disinterest in its vacant eyes.

"How much fire can a dragon breathe before it runs out?" Bonnie yells over the roaring flames.

"I don't know!" Neven shouts back. "You're the one who decided to come here! You should know!"

"I didn't think it would be like this!" Bonnie moves her helmet from her eyes. It's hot to the touch.

"What? You thought it'd roll over and let you kill it?" He glares at her. "You might want to consider learning a little about dragons before you decide to face one down in a battle to the death!"

"You didn't have to come!" Then she pauses, because suddenly her voice is too loud, the room is too quiet. It hits her, the flames have stopped.

A face as tall as a house lunges into view on Neven's side of the pillar. He freezes, not even bothering to raise his shield. red scaled lips draw back, revealing jagged teeth as long as a man's arm.

Then Neven turns his head over his shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut. He drops the shield and raises his arms. The metal contraptions around his arms whir, making a high pitched whine that sounds a little like Jack's attempts to sing.

The dragon narrows its eyes at the metal shooters, giant head cocking to one side like a puppy's. Even the cow looks over to them.

The whine gets higher and higher until it's all Bonnie can do to not put her hands over her ears. Then with a magnificent bang that pushes Neven back a foot, several metal balls blast out of the shooters. And land harmlessly at the dragon's feet.

The dragon sniffs them, then starts to growl deep in its throat.

Without thinking, Bonnie shoves Neven aside. She raises her sword, but it looks so insignificant when faced with row upon row of gleaming teeth.

Her arm shakes. This is my duty, she tells herself. This is the only way to make things right. This is the only way I'll become a knight. This is the only way I'll be anything other than a woman whose sole worth is determined by who she marries. This is the only way to be me.

With a fierce cry she runs the short distance to the dragon, her sword swung high over her head. Somewhere behind her she hears Neven shout.

The dragon huffs, the same way you would if a stray hair happened to fall in your face. The sudden gust of foul smelling wind knocks Bonnie off her feet. She hits the stone floor hard, knocking her sword from her hand. The helmet bounces off her head and goes clattering off into the dragon's castle.

She looks for the sword but can't find it. She catches a glimpse of Neven standing horror struck metres away. She's defenceless. This is it. No more running away from the fact that this was a terrible plan. No more running from the fact that she's just a woman playing at being a man. Who was she kidding thinking she could do this when real men had failed? She's just a girl. Weak. Nothing more.

Warm breath rolls over her. She closes her eyes as those rows of sharp teeth descend toward her.

She tenses in anticipation of the pain, but nothing happens. Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Nothing but soft waves of warm breath that stinks of rotting meat.

She cracks open her eyes.

The dragon hovers over her. Its snout is inches from her face. Black eyes stare down at her, and they don't look as lifeless as they did a moment before. She imagines she sees something like surprise sparking in those wide eyes.

Slowly Bonnie gets to her feet, but the dragon still doesn't move. It's frozen in place, its warm breath wafting over her, making the shorn ends of her blond hair sway. Those giant eyes follow her movements carefully, never leaving her face. Almost like it recognises her.

***

Not daring to move, Bonnie scans the ground around her for the sword. Whatever has frozen the dragon in place, there's no guarantee how long it'll last. This is her chance to kill the creature. Maybe the only chance she'll ever get.

"Neven," she hisses behind her. "Help me find my sword."

There's an awkward shuffling sound as Neven unfreezes, casting dirt and rubble aside to look for the weapon. She doesn't turn around, scared that if she turns her back on the dragon it will be the last thing she ever does. It's so close, close enough to touch if she were to reach out. She clenches her fist, forcing down the urge to run a hand over the hard scales of its snout.

"Sword. Here," Neven gasps, sounding breathless. Bonnie feels cold metal placed into her hand.

The sword feels heavier than she remembers it ever feeling before. Its eyes are too far away to reach in its house sized head. Its mouth is closed. She'll have to drive the sword in under its chin, and hope the scales are soft enough, and the sword long enough for the blow to be fatal.

She swallows, and lifts the sword in both hands. She'll have to be quick. One quick movement to duck under the creatures chin, another to plunge the sword up into the soft spot under its jaw. Its head is so big that she doubts even a straight blow up would reach the brain, but if she angles it back toward the throat she might have a chance of wounding something vital.

And if she fails, well then, she won't have a long time to worry about it. She's a little girl facing down a dragon the size of a hill. It could snap her in two with a flick of a claw. And if she makes it angry then it won't hesitate.

But there's something strange here, because it's not supposed to be hesitating now. It's supposed to be breathing fire, ripping her limb from limb, chomping her up in that cave of a mouth. Instead it stares down at her with dark eyes that make her heart clench. Those dark eyes that looked up at her on that day years ago.

The day her parents died.

The metal of the sword feels slick in her hands. Reaching back to that day she tries to find the anger she thought she'd feel in this moment. She tries to remember her father shouting, his gentle voice angry. Tries to remember him dead on the floor, drenched in blood. She's prepared for this day since she was ten years old. Sometimes the anger would consume her so much she was afraid there would be nothing left of her, but now that she needs it, the anger falls away.

Instead her mind drifts back to that box, left on a chair as her parents argue outside. Her, five summers old and curious. Nothing in her mind of blood and death. Monsters lived only in stories, and vengeance was unknown to her.

Her heart hammers loud in her ears, and her arms shake so badly the sword wavers. Instantly she's furious with herself. She should be able to do this. Her father killed dragons all over the border. It was the dream of every boy and man to kill a dragon, it should be her dream too. To kill the dragon, pay her debt to her parents, and present proof of the dragon's death to the King in exchange for knighthood.

Killing this dragon has been in her thoughts for the past four years. How, when she's so close can she change her mind? Then it hits her: pity. Her stomach churns in disgust. Standing here, looking into the eyes of the creature that she should hate, part of her actually feels sorry for it.

No. Bonnie grits her teeth, screws her eyes shut. Strong. She has to be strong. Only weak women would let such sentimentality cloud their mind. She has to choose. Will she be a weak minded slave of a wife, or a strong knight like her father?

She spins, putting her whole body behind the swords lunge. It's a graceful movement halfway between his father's swordsmanship and her mother's ballroom dancing. There's a cool satisfaction knowing that her mother's desperate attempts to make her more of a woman help now to make her a man.

Falling into a crouch under the animal's giant chin she flows the momentum upward, aiming her sword at the pale red patch of scales directly above her. The tip of the sword slides between two scales. There's resistance, and then it jerks upward into soft flesh. Her muscles burn, sweat dripping into her eyes with the effort. Warm blood runs down the blade, washing over her hands, soaking the sleeves of her tunic.

So much blood. She stops, shaking. The dragon's breath comes in slow even rhythms above her. Its blood pours over her, soaking through her clothes to the skin, but it doesn't even twitch.

There's a clang of metal hitting stone floor, and she realises she's dropped the sword. Numbly she looks down at what little she can see of herself under the shadow of the dragon's chin. Blood shines slickly over her arms and down the front of her clothes.

She can't do this. She can't.

Slowly she raises a blood coated hand, places her palm on the scales in front of her. They're warm and smooth under her skin, just like she remembers. The dragon's heart beats, powerful under its scaled armour. It vibrates down her arm, steady, contrasting with the rapid beating of her own heart. Above her the animal lets out a rumbling sound that shakes her very bones. It doesn't sound aggressive. It sounds almost like he's purring.

"Bonnie," Neven hisses behind her.