David Caffee 4,425 words Charge of the Dragon Soldiers All in all it was a marvelous day for a war. The sky had a harsh blue- gray color and the air was cold and crisp. A sharp wind blew across the mountain trail. The sun, half hidden by clouds, cast a pale light over the rocks and scrub brush that lined the passage. The steep cliffs and foothills that the army wound their way through were steadily giving way to more level countryside. Nearly three thousand men marched over the rugged terrain in an ordered line four men wide. With drilled precision they marched as a single body like an enormous snake winding its way down the mountain. The mountain crossing had been hard and the soldiers' moods were black. Winter had not yet fully given way to spring and they had been marching on empty bellies. The land was barren and there was nothing to be foraged from the wilderness. The soldiers were worn and angry, wanting only to get done with their task and return quickly home. An occasional tree appeared along the trail, its branches stripped of leaves and lifeless. As the army proceeded such signs of life became more frequent. All could feel that the dragon was close. Brightmon Gladthor observed the progress of the army as his horse followed the mountain trail. He felt that he was appropriately inspired to write in verse. As a court-appointed poet, it was his duty to record this adventure in song for the sake of those back in his home keep at Kelshire. The lords and ladies of the court and all of their children would want a poetic testimony of the campaign. Their ears would strain to hear of the glory of Kelshire's men and the King's army and above all the deeds of the dragon soldiers. Generations had passed since the last time the dragon soldiers had seen battle but like a religion the order still persisted in holding the devotion of its troops. Once their numbers had dwindled and the order itself passed into historical obscurity, many knew of them only through wild stories sang by bards. Now that a dragon had come once more the dragon soldiers had experienced a revival and Brightmon had the privilege of witnessing their renewed strength. Young Gladthor had grown up on the legends of the dragon soldiers, as a child all he ever wanted was to be one of those fearless warriors. If Brightmon strained his eyes enough, he swore that he caught an occasional glimpse of them. The lead formation, the head of the army train, marching proud and tall were the dragon soldiers. Brightmon felt his heart rise with the anticipation of the great day in the making. He was certain that his fellows would test their valor against the worst of all villainy and they would return home triumphant. This stirred Brightmon's emotions but not his tongue. He had no words of beauty and valor and sacrifice, no poetry to give dignity to his subject. His brain fumbled with clumsy rhymes and Brightmon cursed his own limitations. The lords and lesser knights leading this army rode in the middle of the marching train. Safely nestled between the other formations they issued orders via rider and got reports back from the other formations the same way. Each lord had his own stable of horses and riders to keep track of his individual companies. Brightmon observed these men carefully. None of the lords or knights he observed seemed like they would merit mention in his epic. None of them had the character a man needed to deserve immortality. He was sure that every one of them would be pleased beyond words and so very content with themselves at the thought of being praised in verse. His own lack of fame and skill as a bard would not be an issue for these vain aristocrats. The only other nobleman Brightmon had any real respect for was his own lord from his home in Kelshire. Brightmon was well liked at the court of Kelshire and the courtiers there humored his attempts at verse with applause and kind words. The lord of Kelshire was Admin Webb, a friend and patron to the young Gladthor. Admin was reluctant to lead his vassals on this campaign. He did not feel the excitement that they did when they left for the dragon war. Admin was a shorter man and slight of build. He made up for his lack of size with his commanding presence and total self-confidence. While he earned a reputation for valor as a younger man, age had made him practical. Admin was known for making every attempt at peace before committing himself and his knights to a fight. Admin was a stern man and not given to frivolity or leisure. His face was sour as he watched the lords around him. The knights around them were mostly untested and this was to be their first real battle. They had unpacked their finery and crests and wore trinkets and their armor. The commoners who formed the bulk of the army were ragged and hungry yet these few lived in relative comfort. They still took it upon themselves to stay groomed so they could face the dragon with pride. Brightmon was proud to be apart of this fine quest. Soon they would slay the dragon and history would remember them for it. Not everyone had the will to face such a beast, and few men could count themselves among the breed that could kill a dragon. All of the soldiers here were like the dragon soldiers in a way. They bore the same proud character, the same faith in themselves, the same fearlessness. While none of them could ever hope to match the valiant deeds of that legendary troupe, the knights from Kelshire and the other provinces carried themselves as if they had already earned their way into immortality. Gladthor studied the faces of the men around trying to decide if any of them would earn a special place in his epic when they fought the dragon. Brightmon nudged his horse closer to Admin of Kelshire. "Fine day for killing dragons." he quipped. "This isn't a good day by any accounts, young poet." Admin replied, "There are more dragons that kill men than there are men that kill dragons." The two rode in silence for a moment. Brightmon started again, "Do you think we'll be back in Kelshire by the time our serfs need to start the planting?" "I don't know. It took us too long to get through those mountains. I think we're close to the monster though, that makes a difference. It still might be a very short growing season yet" the Lord of Kelshire replied. "Surely with an army such as this the dragon war will be quickly won" Brightmon said. Admin looked at him hard and said, "A courtier and a poet would do well to mind his history. King's and empires have sent greater armies than this to war with a dragon and as often as not the dragons have won. A creature of such power and might is not to be slighted. That foul beast has already killed hundreds just by passing through this province; it'll kill hundreds more when we attack. Put that in your damned verse." Brightmon felt he must have offended his lord in some way and tried to make amends, "Sire, forgive me it is not my place to counsel you in war. I only meant to express optimism at the prospects of a quick victory. With the firepots and great ballistas the King has equipped his army with..." "You stop right there Brightmon, no damned noise maker or ballista is equal to the barrage of a dragon's breath. It has been said that such an apocalypse of heat and smoke could rout an entire army. It has been recorded in histories and the strategies of generals that a dragon's scales cannot be broken by the heaviest of stones nor be punctured by the sharpest of spears. You will soon see how pitiful the claws of man are compared to those of a dragon. Many men will have to die before we are done; they will trade their lives for the lives the dragon would take. It is a necessary thing but I take no joy in it. Remember that no such weapon as a firepot existed when the last dragon awoke, such a thing is untested against the beast's hide." Lord Admin stated. Brightmon said, "That is exactly my point, sire. It was nearly a century ago when the last dragon war was fought in Desinglar. Before that there hadn't been a dragon sited in civilized lands in over five decades. Surely you can concede that many of the tales of dragons from those times have been exaggerated. This is the way it is with stories; they grow from being told over the generations. A creature as large and strong as the legends say could not exist. I feel that the real beast will be quite manageable compared to the one we have prepared ourselves for." Admin said nothing. He turned his head from Brightmon and rode without speaking. Brightmon wondered if he had angered Admin by being to presumptuous or by disagreeing with his lord. Lord Kelsire was not one to take personal offense easily but on some subjects he was touchy. Admin was an well-educated gentleman but he placed too much faith in the writings of those who came before and believed anything he saw in print. Books and scrolls were magic to Admin's mind and the magic of that knowledge was to be listened to, not interpreted. The army split up on the open plains and divided into three camps. The dragon soldiers and their circle of tiny tents were far from the King's army and the army conscripted from the provinces. The dragon soldiers could be heard drinking and fighting and bellowing laughter throughout the night. The knights convened in quite circles to sip wine and talk of glory while the footmen sang songs and stared at the stars. No one uttered aloud the one thought that they were all sharing. Not all of the men in that camp would survive the next day. They came upon the dragon about midday. The sun had banished the gloom of the previous day and the chill air was now warm. A light wind curled around a single hill that dominated the mostly open country. The army nestled itself atop that hill, staring down at death itself. The dragon slept, unmoving as a statue, on the plain at the base of the hill. Brightmon realized that he was wrong about the exaggeration of legends. If anything the people of other times must have edited their account of the monsters to make it seem more believable. He stood with the others and stared with unreserved awe at the creature they had come to slay. The dragon was a hundred and fifty yards long if it was a hand span. Green and gray scales reflected in the sun as far as you could see. The beast left a large impression in the ground where it slept. The stories passed along by the mountain herders claimed that the dragon ate entire heads of cattle to sustain itself and chomped down sheep and horses by the dozen. Humans were not spared from its appetite. The beast supposedly wrecked a dozen towns simply by walking past them. Its head and mouth were so massive that the dragon could likely fit four or five armored men in its jaws and swallow them whole. Each of its teeth must have been as long as a spear and its claws were the size of cavalry lances. The firepots, catapults, and ballistas were being assembled on the far-left side of the hill. The bulky devices had required great effort to transport through the mountains. The conscript armies were milling about on the right side of the hill. The dragon soldiers stationed themselves in the middle. Brightmon finally got his first real look at them. A full legion strong they were. A thousand of them, bare chested and tattooed. Wild hair streamed from their shoulders. They wore no helmets or armor; such things gave no protection against a dragon. They were magnificent. Brightmon would have given anything to be able to stand with them. His heart ached with a long forgotten longing to become a dragon soldier. His mind wandered back to times past, when he would sit by an evening fire and listen to his grandfather's stories of the dragon soldiers and their brave quests against mighty dragons. Brightmon would be sent to bed and stay up half the night wielding a stick as if it were a sword and living those stories in his mind. The bodies and weapons of the dragon soldiers were etched with mystical symbols that the priests swore gave power to those that stood against a dragon. It is said that a dragon can only be slain by such a weapon. Brightmon wondered if that were true, soon they would all find out. A dragon soldier's life was sworn to fighting dragon wars. All were ready to die in order to defeat the beast. The other soldiers here were not so selfless. The commoners who made up the bulk of the army were conscripts forced into service by their lords. The dragon soldiers were volunteers that answered the call for this crusade from kingdoms near and far, they almost seemed eager to start the battle. The dragon soldier legion divided itself into sections. The dragon soldier cavalry rode out to flank the dragon. Two distinct units emerged from the mass of ink covered infantrymen. The knights of the provinces kept their forces back, sheltered themselves on the other side of the hill. They would not charge the dragon. The young knights' talk of fame and valor had vanished like a whiff of smoke. The beast had frightened them into submission without even waking up. When the catapults and ballistas were ready the commander of the King's army ordered the dragon soldiers to charge. The cavalry came rushing across the plains toward the beast's haunches. It's still unmoving form an unmistakable target as it towered above the landscape. The sheer nerve it must take to rush toward such a creature took Brightmon's breath away. He wished that he could ever be so brave. Poison-coated lances hit the dragon's skin at an angle, the riders aimed to hit between the beast's scales. Dragon soldiers were knocked from their horses and trampled after throwing themselves against that mountain of flesh and bone. The infantry marched slowly down the hillside, each man toting a shield as tall as himself; each shield was made from the single scale of a dragon. In times past the dragon soldiers cut off the scales and claws of defeated dragons and carried them back to their temple as trophies. Now those scales would serve to protect the slayers from the beast's breath. The infantry was armed with pikes and axes; their task was to pry up the dragon's scales and hack at the soft skin underneath. The dragon soldiers picked up speed as they approached the mammoth thing before them. Brightmon half expected them to hesitate or show fear. They did not. The terror one should naturally feel when confronted by a force so unstoppable was not evident upon their faces. They pressed that emotion low into their stomachs and ran screaming at the dragon, its sides seeming like the walls of some strange city. The infantrymen lay on to the dragon with methodical cruelty. They doggedly dug into the beast's iron hide to reveal its tender spots and attack them with axe and sword. The Calvary men who had been unable to reclaim their horses joined in the fray. The riders who managed to remain on horseback had regrouped for a second run armed with freshly poisoned lances. After a long moment of harassment, the dragon began stirring from its sleep. At first it lifted slightly up from its earthen bed and settled back down, crushing dozens of men. The dragon soldier infantry came back at the dragon with renewed vigor; their attack made them look like a crew of workers digging a mine. Again the dragon stirred, this time quickly. It reared half up on its feet and shook. The dragon sent explosions of dirt and grass out from it with each movement. Again the dragon soldiers renewed their attack. They chopped and stabbed at the creature's legs and stomach until the pain became enough to fully roust the dragon. The dragon soldier infantry retreated back toward the hill as the ballistas and catapults hurled missiles of wood and stone at the dragon. Archers began showering the creature with poisoned arrows. The beast staggered to its feet and roared like an angry drunkard. It was upset at being so rudely disturbed. The ground shook as it walked and its scream deafened the army poised on the hill. Many dropped to their knees as the dragon's roar echoed over the plain. The dragon looked up at the army assembled against it and paused for a minute. It seemed to Brightmon that the creature might simply lie back down and ignore the humans trying to kill it. But then a boulder from a catapult stung it in a tender spot that was missing scales. The creature gritted its teeth and dug it's claws into the earth. It's head reared back and a thin column of bright yellow flame spat from its nostrils, a fire that spread across the plain like water. The retreating dragon soldiers were right in it's path. They dropped to the ground and crawled beneath their shields. Fires passed over them burning both grass and flesh with the same thoroughness. The beast then made a straight line toward the left side of the hill. The catapults and ballistas kept up a steady assault aimed at the dragon's general area. It was hit repeatedly by stones and bolts that were more irritating to it than dangerous. The dragon charged the entrenched siege engines. As it neared the embankment someone gave the order to ignite the firepots. The bell shaped metal containers were filled with black powder and heavy stones or iron balls. As flame was struck to each one it exploded and sent it's projectile hurtling up at the dragon. Soon the hill was covered with smoke. Many of the devices misfired, killing the crews that manned them. The gun crews reloaded as the dragon smashed catapults effortlessly. Soldiers were fleeing by the gross as others stood frozen by terror. Several shots hit the dragon in its snout. The dragon turned as the second volley was fired; stone and metal blasted scales off of its hind legs. The dragon retreated down the hill; it's tail carelessly swiping at siege engines and firepots, splintering massive timbers with the slightest touch. Less than half of the dragon soldiers remained when they hastily assembled for the second charge. Underneath their shields, the tongues of flame still manage to burn many of them; smoke made the others stop breathing. The dragon was sore and bleeding but far from defeated. A single messenger rider returned from the dragon soldier's formation. His message was spread among the troops and knights of the provisional army. The dragon soldiers were asking for volunteers for a second charge against the dragon. Heads turned to watch the horrid form of the monster that paced along the base of the hill. It looked like it was deciding whether to go back to sleep or rush up the hill and trample them. The men began whispering about a retreat, they said no one in his right mind would dare rush the terror that stood below them after seeing what had happened to the others. Brightmon heard knights whispering that if the army ran in every direction then only a few of them would be caught by the dragon when it charged. A single dragon soldier approached the army on horseback. His uncombed hair was died black and his face was tattooed with blue ink. "Has none of you the courage to fight this war?" he bellowed at them spitefully. The dragon soldiers were serious about attacking again. The young poet and courtier was in awe of the events he had witnessed this day. It was not the spectacle of the dragon that held his attention, it was the unwavering boldness of the dragon soldier that sat before him. This man had faced down the devil and seen hundreds of his fellows die and still he would return once more to offer himself up. It was a powerful moment for young Gladthor. All of his faith in the dragon soldiers, the life he spent wishing to be one of them was justified in this moment. Young Gladthor did not want to die but Lord Webb's words haunted his mind; they will trade their lives for the lives the dragon would take. Brightmon spurred his horse forward and came up behind the dragon soldier. He was not alone. Two other knights and thirteen conscripts all lined up to take their turn fighting the dragon. Brightmon searched the crowd of soldiers for the faces of his comrades. He spotted Lord Admin Webb as he rode his horse towards the dragon soldier followed by several other knights from Kelshire. Young Gladthor felt a surge of pride and relief as the group approached him. "Brightmon!" his lord shouted, "Get back here man! Put aside your foolishness and come with us." Brightmon could not believe what he just heard. Fear and indecision gripped his stomach like a clenched fist. He held on to the pommel of his saddle but did not spur his horse forward. "I order you as Lord of Kelshire to come over he and stand with me. I will not explain to your mother that I let you commit suicide," Admin said. "I let you tag along with my knights so you could write your bloody poem not get slaughtered by that foul beast." Gladthor said nothing and did not move. Admin's face was turning red. He shouted, "I am your liege and you are bound by honor to obey me." The tattooed rider responded before Brightmon could, "A dragon soldier is bound to no king or lord. The only honor we value is a code of courage that you and your men do not possess. These few men are strong of heart and will die with us to destroy the beast. You are welcome to charge with them if you dare. Brightmon had never seen a commoner talk to his lord in such a manner. He thought the dragon solder's words would throw Admin into a rage but Lord Webb did not respond. The other man had all but called him a coward to his face and he said nothing. Shame and fear spread across the lord's face and Brightmon was shocked by it. Admin cast a furtive glance over his shoulder at the still pacing dragon. He eyes grew wide and his lips trembled. He no longer recognized the face of the man before him; his features and bearing had changed so much. Admin knew he didn't have the courage to charge the dragon with them. "You're all madmen!" the lord shouted at the men before him, "we cannot defeat this dragon. When it has sated itself it will return to the lands it came from. We must save ourselves while we have a chance. By God man, you're not even a proper knight. What good can you do here? Come with us and save your life." No one headed his words. The dragon soldier spurred his horse and led them down the hill where the rest had assembled. Brightmon stripped off his armor as he rode. Someone handed him a poisoned lance and he rode to meet the cavalry. His eyes were mesmerized by the sacred markings on the lance's handle. How he had dreamed of wielding a weapon such as this. Brightmon's soul tried to find a measure of his own life. How precious was the thing that he was now risking? What would be the gain from its loss? Gladthor felt the urge to break formation and ride full gallop away from the army into the safety of the mountains. He almost did that very thing. After all, he thought, what difference would one soldier make against a beast such as the dragon. In his mind Admin's words rolled over and over, clashing with what his lord had said the previous day. How could a man so brave become fainthearted at the sight of the dragon when Brightmon, by his own admission a coward, had volunteered to charge. He avoided looking down the hill at the dragon less he give in to his urge to run. A curious thing happened just then. He rode toward the assembled cavalry while the remaining gun and catapult crews readied their weapons. A light breeze blew across the plain, carrying with it the stench of burnt flesh and grass. A few small fires still burnt around the edges of where the dragon had attacked. The young courtier looked down and saw a small wild flower that somehow had not been trampled by man or horse. Fragile yellow petals swayed with the wind. Its stem, crooked and rough, was ringed by sharp edged leaves. It was the most beautiful thing Brightmon had ever seen. As a poet he had never known true inspiration, at his moment of sacrifice it gave itself to him. Knowing that he would soon die, Brightmon savored every last ounce of beauty and life that he could find. He felt happy and was not afraid. Throughout the battle he had been terrified of dying. Now that he knew his death was unavoidable he no longer had to fear it. He did not like the prospect but he did not seek to avoid it. Tears of joy manifested at the corners of his eyes as he celebrated his newfound freedom. Brightmon lined up with the other soldiers. They did not acknowledge his presence nor did he acknowledge theirs. He gripped his lance tightly, took one look at his inevitable death in front of him and charged.