Dragon Skin

DRAGON SKIN

By G. L. Snodgrass

Copyright 2014 Gary Snodgrass

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means. This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author's imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Purple Herb Publishing

http://glsnodgrass.blogspot.com/

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Other Stories by G. L. Snodgrass

Worth Saving

Nothing So Quiet

Certain Rules

Unwritten Rules

A Demon's Nightmare

Short Stories

The One That Got Away

Prom Date

Dragon Skin

The First

Dedicated to

Harold Snodgrass

This one is for you Dad

Dragon Skin

Stephan

You’d think a dragon skin would impress a girl. At least earn you a raised eyebrow of interest. Something that says, “Hey, wow, that’s impressive.” But no, not a twinkle. I’m talking a full blown, armored dragon skin; eighteen feet long, with two black ridges down its back. Properly cured and preserved, everything you’d want in a dragon skin.

No reaction, nothing, not even a yawn.

I mean, it was the first true dragon’s skin in two hundred years. Not some wizard’s pathetic attempt to fool the masses. Nor some molted snake skin passed off as authentic. This was the real deal and she could care less. What was it about high born ladies and their disdain for the important things in life?

Dragons, being rare and pretty much indestructible are hard enough to find, let alone kill. If he was lucky a man could spend his whole life and never see one. Others, less than lucky, spent their entire lives living under their threat of immediate and permanent incineration. That’s the thing, you just never know with a dragon.

Everyone else in the hall got it. Their eyes bugged out and a quiet murmur passed through the crowd.

“Is that really a dragon skin?”

“Where’s its wings?”

“Isn’t he the Blacksmith’s son?”

“A dragon skin. It’s worth a king’s ransom.”

“How’d he get it? Who’d he steal it from?”

All of the whispered questions passed up and down the rank of onlookers. I let them talk, ignoring them as I studied the young woman sitting at the head table next to her uncle.

Brianna could make a rose wilt with envy. She’d make the sun second guess its brilliance. Never, in all of the kingdom’s history had a woman been so beautiful.  Long golden hair fell to her trim waist. Emerald green eyes twinkled with intelligence and an understanding of the world. This was a woman to birth a race of warriors and capture a people’s heart.

And she would be mine. Or I’d die trying.

.o0o.

Brianna

He was back.

Five years and he walks into my Uncles hall as if he owns the place.

He’d grown, a lot. Massive shoulders carried a rolled carpet as if it were a child’s pillow. Legs like tree trunks and heavily muscled arms spoke of his strength and power. I didn’t know if it was sword play or the smith’s hammer that had created such a chiseled specimen and didn’t care. He was here.

A long sword swung from his left hip and a sharp battle axe rested in a scabbard across his back. Two dirks, the throwing kind, peaked from the top of each boot and another was positioned in his belt. This was a man ready for war.

It was the eyes that let me know that it was him, he’d changed that much. Their deep blue shot through my soul as soon as he saw me. I’d held my breath while he marched down the aisle to the head table. Every eye followed him, every head turned as he passed. Most would not remember the boy. But none would forget the man.

Unfazed, unbothered, he threw his burden to the ground and kicked it open. Unrolling it for all to see.

I knew what it was without looking. He’d said he’d do it. Promised me on that moonlit night behind his father’s forge. I’d thought him a fool for trying, and a bastard for leaving.  He’d been my only friend. My only trusted friend. Instead of staying, he’d left on some silly quest to retrieve a dragon’s skin. Now he was back and my heart raced with joy. Not because of the prize, but because he was well. Grown into a man a woman could be proud of.

He stood before the onlookers, feet apart and arm crossed at his chest. Looking for all the world like a lost hero. The dark green scales of the skin at his feet overlapped each other. The hard scales growing progressively smaller and turning yellow towards the edges. Two circular patches indicated where the beast’s wings had been. A dragon’s skin. Who would believe it?

I’d always thought them myth. My Stephan had proved the world wrong. I couldn’t imagine what he had gone through to get it. What he’d faced. How had he done it?

“Is it real?” Sir Roland, my betrothed, asked. “It can’t be.” He added staring at Stephan as if he wanted to gut him like a fish. Obviously Roland remembered the boy now turned man. It’d been Roland that drove him away when we were found kissing behind in the smithy.  My first and only kiss.

Roland had screamed at me for throwing myself at a blacksmith’s son then beat him with mailed fist and sword hilt. Stephan has fought like a caged gryphon but the boy had been no match for the bigger, older, armored knight. Three times Stephan had risen from the bloody ground and each time he’d been knocked back down into the mud.

My heart squeezed as I remembered the hurt and humiliation in his eyes. How he’d looked when he couldn’t rise again.  I’d flown to him, pushing the hair from his eyes. My tears falling onto his battered face. This kind sweet boy who’d made me feel special and so grown up had been smashed into a pulp of gore and shame.

Shooting a glare at Roland I’d sworn that I’d never forgive him, never forget what he’d done.

Roland had laughed in my face then pulled me from Stephan. Smirking as I fought and clawed at him. My heart broke with every tug of my arm.

  As he pulled me away I glanced back to see Stephan still lying in the muck, not moving, barely breathing. It was the last time I saw him. The last time until tonight.

Here today, with him walking back into my life I could not react as I wished. My smile trapped by the knowledge of what would happen if I showed my true feelings. My voice a prisoner to Roland’s rage. If he knew how I felt. How I longed to hold this man in my arms. If Roland knew he would kill him. Kill him and steal his prize. My insides turned over as I refused to look upon Stephan. Using every bit of will, every sense of control to maintain my apparent disregard.

Roland watched me. His eyes like daggers, waiting for me to react. Stoic, I was frozen. I would not give him the ammunition, the motivation to act. Never again would Stephan be hurt because of me.

.o0o.

Stephan

The Green scales of the Dragon’s skin danced in the lamp light, shimmering like oil on still waters. The glorious hide laid there on the castle’s stone floor. An un-obtainable fortune. - That which could not be had. - Shown before them all. A testament to what I had done.

“Is it real,” Brianna’s uncle the King asked his Wizard Morrell

The old gray bearded one looked as if someone had thrown up in his porridge. His needle like eyes darted from side to side. It was obvious that he didn’t know what to say. How best to answer. If he said “No,” he would destroy his master’s dream. If he said “Yes” he would contradict half a century of telling his master, “It couldn’t be done.”

My heart soared watching the old prick squirm like this.

Each of the men up there held a special place in my ‘Despise’ compartment. Each had earned a life of suffering amidst pain and pestilence as far as I was concerned.

Roland for the shame he had brought me in front of Brianna. Morrell for the lies and implied innuendo he’d spread about me. King Ferraught for his blind avarice that viewed his only niece as nothing more than a token to be traded like a golden goblet.

Each of them had viewed me as nothing more than a tool to be used. No different than my father’s hammer or the swords on their hips. Utilized then cast away only to be replaced by another.

King Ferraught licked his lips, unable to look away from the skin as his burning thoughts danced across his face.  Could he buy it and if so how much. Surely this Smithy boy couldn’t demand much. What would he need in life, Maybe a job? Yes a job in the Smith like his father.  Could he steal it? What would people say about him as the King if he stole this man’s dragon skin?

I could read him like a well-marked trail. Every tick and tremor told a story. The man wanted my treasure and would do anything to have it.

Morrell stepped away from the head table and gingerly crept down the stairs to stand next to the skin. Leaning on his staff he gingerly lowered himself to one knee so that he could run his hand along the scales. He lifted the skin to inspect the hide. Fingering and scraping the underside leather. Biting his lip he pondered what lay before him. Finally rising he looked at me, his eyes narrowing as he stared into mine. Turning he addressed the King. “It is genuine, your highness. It is a true Dragon’s Skin.”

Another gasp erupted from the crowd of onlookers. Each knew this would be a memory to tell their children. They were there when Stephan, the smith’s son displayed the Dragon’s skin.

“No!” Roland exclaimed. “It cannot be,”

“You’ve already said that Roland,” the king said. “How boy, tell us how you obtained this.”

“It is a long story your highness. A story I dread reliving,” I said looking briefly at Brianna. She had finally glanced my way, finally deigned to acknowledge my existence. I smiled to myself. Even she was curious. How had the mere Smith’s son obtained such a wonder?

“Sire,” Roland said. “It is impossible, No metal can pierce a Dragon’s hide. No Magic can bring it down. Even if the boy found the Dragon already dead, he could not have removed the skin.”

“Not so Sir Knight,” Morrell said as he moved back to his chair. “We know the ancients did it. We do not know how, but we know that it was done.”

Roland stared at the Wizard as if he wished to strangle him, preferably slowly, while roasting him over an open fire. It made my insides feel warm and happy to see these two fight, especially over my treasure.

“Quiet, both of you,” King Ferraught said as he lifted a hand. “Stephan is it?” he asked, his brow narrowing as if trying to remember. Trying to place me in the history of a thousand servants.

“Yes sir, Stephan Smith. Former apprentice in Your Majesty’s forge.”

“Well then Stephan, Tell us your tail. For it is only in the telling that we can decide if this is a true Dragon’s Skin.”

“Of course sire,” I said, smiling on the inside. For it is only through the story that a myth becomes a legend. The story would travel well beyond the location of the skin. If told well it would enhance the value of what lay before me and add to my prize.

.o0o.

Brianna

I watched my uncles eyes narrow. I’d seen that look whenever he wanted something.

Stephan had changed I thought. While there was no hint of insolence, there was also very little deferment. A sense that he was talking to his betters appeared nowhere in his voice or his story.

He is a man I realized, in more than size. No longer the young boy I remembered. What had happened to him on his quest? How had it changed him? And had it changed him so much that he no longer cared for me?

Had there been other women. Even now might a wife and child wait for him?  Glancing quickly at the Hall door I held my breath, expecting to see a young woman with a child on her hip race to his side.

When nothing happened I let out a breath and sighed to myself. What did it matter? I was betrothed to Roland these last two years. Uncle had demanded it. I would never have Stephan. My world would not allow it. Should I pray that he remain alone all his life, pining for me, his lost love. Did I want him to feel that pain, that lonely abandonment? No I realized, not really. Better that he be happy. At least one of us should.

Turning I listened to him begin his story. His voice deep and confident. He spoke as someone intimately familiar with the tail. Someone who had been there and done the deeds himself.

.o0o.

Stephan

“Your Majesty,” I began. “It was you who set me on my quest. It is because of you I sought the Dragon’s Skin.” I paused for a moment as the Hall fell into a deep quiet. Letting my audience take in what I’d said. Each person leaned forward to insure they heard every word. Most of them already planning on who they would tell the story too.

The king’s furrowed brow let me know that he was confused. “Yes Your Majesty,” I continued. “I was working at my father’s forge one night when you and Wizard Morrell passed by. Both of you deep in conversation about things of value, things that could bring fame and glory to your Kingdom. It was you Your Majesty that convinced me it could be done. You seemed so sure.”

The old man smiled. “Yes. Yes, I remember that conversation,” he said with a smile. “You remember it don’t you Morrell.”

“Yes your majesty, of course, very well. As if it were yesterday.”

Liars both of them. I’d made it up. It’d been the hostler Jensen who’d told me about the value of Dragon Skins.

Smiling to myself I continued on with my story.

“Davorian steel, it would be the only chance I had, Your Majesty,” I said. “Wouldn’t you agree? If you were hunting Dragons wouldn’t you want Davorian Steel?”

King Ferraught said with a frown, “Yes, yes of course. But Davorian steel is almost as priceless as a true Dragon’s skin. Where could you get such a fine weapon?”

“Do you mean like this one?” I said as I pulled my sword.

People gasped and chairs scraped as other pushed to get away. Sir Roland’s hand flew to his own hilt as he half drew his sword before the King put a restraining hand on his arm. They needn’t have worried.

“True Davorian steel, your majesty,” I said as I passed him the sword, pommel first. A quick glance at Brianna showed me her eyes had finally raised in admiration. Even a non-swordsman knew of the value of such a weapon.