Dragon Hunters

“No.” I said to no one, my voice carrying over the sharp drop in front of me. “no, no no, no, no, no, NOOOOOOOOOO”

The electronic screen fizzed, crackled, and then collapsed inwards to a single point of light, before going black. I looked down stunned at the tiny gadget, which more people had died to get their hands on than I had ever met, as it dawned on me just how screwed I actually was.

Before me the land fell away into a vista of trees, their leaves a soft carpet of deep green. The sky above me was an endless dome of bright blue. The sun flashed and stung my eyes whenever I stepped out from the shade. If I were not worried about being strung up outside Galavan Jack’s fortress by my ankles, I would have marvelled at the endless beauty of the forest.

But alas that morning I had stolen the Beast Tracker, the gadget that had just died in my hand. So I was in no state of mind to enjoy the view, no matter how scenic. Galavan Jack’s possession of the Beast Tracker had made him the leader of our settlement, and had ensured that we always had food. But, as you already know, it had just died in my hands. With it had died many things. To name a few: the settlement’s food prospects, what was left of Galavan Jack’s sanity, my clever plan of returning it before anyone saw it was missing, and (regrettably to some) me.

Anxiety flooded through me. A wave of fear I had never before experienced rooted me to the spot. Even when the Gore-Wolves had come across the Severn, I hadn’t been this scared. Something about this fear was so much worse. So much more hopeless.

Wind rushed around me. The Trees rustled and shook. My hair lifted and then fell back. I looked over the cliff and across the forest. A massive shape cast an enormous shadow over the trees. The sun glinted from its back, and its tail twisted and snapped, like a flag moving slowly in the breeze. It glided on its giant wings.

The shape turned, banking with perfect ease, hanging lazily in the air. When I saw the shape in profile, I forgot all about the beast tracker. The image of my father scowling at me in disappointment vanished. Scenes of Galavan Jack frothing at the mouth faded from my minds eye.

“Wow.” I said, without realising it.

I had never seen anything so beautiful in my entire life. The Dragon, which flew lazily away from me, made the vista of trees and sky look needless and mundane. Firelight glittered and danced in his scales, as they flashed in the sunlight. His head was long and proud, his mouth wise and his eyes were glittering pits of ancient wisdom.

And then a thought occurred to me. One that I have regretted for the rest of my life. I decided that my father would like the Dragon’s head for a gift. I saw him smile at me as he placed it over the mantelpiece. That when the sun shined in the summer, the scales would flash and glitter as they did today. I decided that Galavan Jack would forgive me if I gave him the dragon’s skin.

I hate myself for what I did next. I took the bow my father had given to me. A yew self-bow, fashioned from a single strip of wood, using art that wasn’t lost in the Long Days of Rain. I nocked an arrow to it, and aimed at the dragon.

I’ve watched my father punch holes in steel with a self-bow. I’ve seen Galavan Jack, on game day, shoot through the target and bury his arrow in the concrete behind it. Old Grome, who insists his name is pronounced groom, remembers men in steel plated armour, with terrifying weapons of steel and fire, unable to defend themselves from the onslaught of a self-bow.

I’m no Galavan Jack, but I can still shoot.

Even so, my arrow bounced ineffectively from the dragon’s skin. I wish that had been all, that the dragon had ignored me and flown away. There was half a moment where it seemed like that might happen.

Then the dragon twisted itself into a ball in the sky. It spun in the air, turning with magical, liquid grace. I was left speechless as I stared at it. If only I had started running, and not stood gawking at its majestic acrobatics.

The Dragon pulsed, forcing itself out from its ball with strength more commonly associated with mountains and rivers than beasts. It shot towards me. As it came, it turned black, and its eyes, that had been treasure troves of countless glittering gems, went red.

I turned and ran.

It caught up with me easily. I heard breath fill its lungs, even though I stood dozens of yards below it. It breathed out a plume of fire, and the trees in front of me exploded in dancing flame. I turned. The trees on my left and right followed suit. A stream of fire landed directly in front of me.

I could feel the heat pulsing painfully on my face.

When the fire was done, the dragon flapped down. Lacking other options, I drew my bow again, nocked anoth arrow, and aimed for its eye. It came down close to me, its now black head straight ahead of me, cocking from side to side, like a dog trying to listen better. The arrow shivered in my grip. Its head, easily twice the size of the largest horse I had ever seen, seemed unfazed by the bow and arrow in my grip. The trees around me still burned. Still I pointed an arrow at the red, watching eye.

Beside me an oak split with an earth shattering bang. The noise startled me, and I loosed the arrow.

The dragon screamed as the arrow punched deep into its eye.

My heart and the blood pumping in my veins guided me. I didn’t think about what lay at the bottom of the cliff. I didn’t think about how I would survive. I only knew that if I stayed, the dragon would kill me.

I threw myself off the cliff, and into the canopy of trees.