Dragon Tamer

It was midmorning when the knight dismounted at the base of the Black Crest. The pile of fallen armor had flashed the way like a beacon warning of disaster. There was an acrid smell of decomposition in the air that attracted vultures that made their home among the skeletons. Wiry puffs of sulfurous smoke rose from time to time from the cave entrance in the cliff face.

  The knight was careful to make plenty of noise to warn the dragon of visitors. The horses were allowed to roam freely in the valley. The knight Morgan pitched the tent in full view of the dragon, and hid weapons in small bushes where they would be accessible if needed. The knight then built a fire in front of the tent and cooked a meal and waited.

  When the vultures became noisy, Knight Morgan fired a well aimed rock from a leather overhand sling into their midst causing them to scatter. The dragon did not leave its lair that day.

  The next morning, the knight stoked the fire and prepared breakfast. Glowing red eyes shone from the cave entrance and the knight could hear the dragon take deep breaths. The knight walked towards the cave, and stopped half the distance from the camp. With the sling, knight Morgan fired a cloth covered salted beef packet upward and into the dragon’s lair. Raging flames filled the entrance briefly and then died down. Then the dragon snorted loudly as it now inspected the package.

  “I am sorry my friend,” Knight Morgan called. “I did not mean to startle you. I have more food than I can eat and I want to share it with you.”

  Knight Morgan prepared another food packet and fired it into the cave. This time only sniffing greeted it before it was devoured. Another half a dozen packets followed, before the knight walked away.

  “We will eat and talk again, my friend.”

  The day passed quietly with the knight exploring the surrounding valley and forest, trapping a rabbit for supper, tossing rocks at the annoying vultures, and digging a pit to place the remains of brave men. The dragon watched from the shadows, but did not leave its lair.

  Before dusk, the knight shared the rabbit and more salted beef with the beast, talking softly and telling stories of the past. When it was too dark to see, the knight retired into the tent. Sometime later the tent shook from the waves of air displaced by huge wings that flew overhead.

  The next day, and the following days were the same routine except the knight climbed gradually up the cliff face until a hand tossed meat packet would reach the dragon. Occasionally the dragon would stick out its head and glare at the knight, sniff, and then slink back inside. During the day, the knight would hunt, bury bones and pay homage to the dead by leaving a helmet on a new grave. Every night the dragon would go for a flight.

  On the sixth day, Knight Morgan had a visitor.

  “Sir Morgan, here by the trees. I came to see if you were still with us.” It was Fitzhuillum on a short, dark steed across the field half hidden in the shade of the forest.

  “Aye, I am. I am taming the dragon.”

  “Taming? So be it! It has visited the castle every night, but it has not breathed a flame upon us.”

  “Good! Come and join me for a drink.”

  “I dare not, for I am not a brave man. But it was good to see you.” Fitzhuillum pulled on the reins of his horse and disappeared back into the forest.

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