The Quest....

The schoolteacher peered in the looking glass, trying to imagine herself in the role of dragonslayer. Generally, she tried to avoid all contact with dragons, sickening, smelly, smoking sluggards, always looking to capture princesses and eat small children, but this time – ah, this time, it would be different. She intended to see the dragon die, no matter what the cost.

First, though, she would need to enlist help. A team – that was the only way to win. With one, there was a chance of failure but with the right three, a triumverate with the right strengths, the right skills, the right minds this fight could be won and triumph was guaranteed.

First she sought the lawkeeper. He was loud and brash, but sure and brave. He spoke more than was necessary but he brought laughter, as well as fairness, into the peasant’s lives. She outlined her plan, quietly, quickly and he agreed without hesitation.

Next came the songstress. She would be needed to lull the dragon, to lure him into the trap. She was more difficult. She had a family to think of, a husband who needed her, who would not willingly see her come into harm’s way. In the end, with the urging of the lawkeeper, she agreed to this strange woman’s plan.

The most difficult was yet to come. How does one persuade a king to join in a dragonslayer’s quest, especially when there is no treasure, no jewels, no gold, nothing to be gained but the safety of peasants who, as a general rule, mean nothing to a king.

Gaining entry to the king might be the tricky part, but once that was done, what to say? How to spin the right tale, sing the right song, wield the right weapon to force him to join them, to add his spirit and his power to the lowly group already joined in the quest. Surprisingly, on their arrival at the rather meager little castle of the king, they were shown immediately into the not-so grand chamber to face the king and tell their story.

He seemed amused at first.

“Sire,” the schoolteacher said, “we have come to ask for your company on a quest. A grand quest, sire, one which will make your name a legend.”

He snorted. “A legend, miss? Do not legends become legends because they have died bravely for their cause? I have no wish to die for your cause, or even for a cause that aids the kingdom. I like my life just as it is, and have no need of legend. Be gone, and take the lawkeeper and singer of songs with you.”

But the songstress, as planned well in advance, began to sing the softest song – a song that lured the king, entranced him and trapped him, without him even realizing how simple its tune had been, and how easily his will had been bent to theirs.

He called his pages and ordered them to bring horses, weapons, and food for their journey. He did not realize, perhaps never would, that his weapons, his glickety-glockety useless weapons would never slay this dragon. There was only one weapon that would end this dragon’s reign. There could be no compromise here.

The dragon’s lair was not far, but it was a perilous journey, and it could not be done alone. It would end with one of the three dead, but which – which would die in the jaws of the evil dragon, known as the Nevil? Which would not return to home, hearth and ham and eggs for breakfast.

The schoolteacher knew, but she could not change the future, she could only salvage the other lives that might be lost if the quest were not completed. Her weapon, her secret, her drive would be the ties that bound three of them to success and one of them to death.

And the dragon would die.

They mounted the steeds provided by the king and rode off, past cheering crowds, impressed, most of them for the first time, with the bravery of their king, who in another age and time might be known as a couch potato. Of course, no one would dare call him such to his face as that would cause severe damage to the offender. The king was not a forgiving soul and he tended to be cranky when his subjects disagreed with his needs and desires.

They traveled into the night, the songstress softly singing songs of faith and courage, the lawkeeper stolid and strong, the king trying to maintain his royal demeanor and the schoolteacher quiet, trying not to attract attention, lest questions should arise that she could not answer.

They stopped, they slept, they arose early and the schoolteacher led them to the dragon’s lair. Smoke rose slowly from the entrance to the cave and the songstress began her song. Sweetly it drifted o’er the ridge and seemed almost to float on the breeze down, down, down to the dragon and the smoke began to thicken and rise, sulphurous and ugly.

Suddenly, there was a roar, vicious, deep, almost tearing the clothes from their bodies as the dragon stirred and suddenly burst, screeching the dragon screech, the killer screech, the sound of death for one of the four. The singer sang, the lawkeeper drew his sword and the king – well, the king looked royal for as long as he could pretend to feel no fear, which was not very long at all in the scheme of things.

The schoolteacher drew back and to the right of the group, wanting a clear path between her and the dragon, trying not to be distracted by the manly posture of the lawman, or the beautiful song the songstress sung. The dragon flew overhead, swooping down, seeming to be ready to attempt to snatch the king in his royal robes, while the lawman stabbed and poked with his sword. He could not reach the dragon, though, and cried out in frustration.

If only the schoolteacher could lure him just a bit to the right, just far enough to avoid the risk of injuring one of the two who were to live. “Move,” she urged silently, “get out of the way, give me the space I need and I can save those who have been foretold and bring freedom from this dragon plague to the kingdom once and for all.”

Suddenly, it happened. The songstress moved to the left, the lawman to the right and the king was busily scurrying to a small cave in which he hoped to hide. The dragon swooped, snatched the king in his hoary claws and began to climb to the sky with his lunch in tow. Or toes, as the case may be.

The schoolteacher swept aside her robe and pulled her trusty Heckler and Koch P7 (a fine Germanic firearm obtained through magic and witchery that would be best left unexplained lest she be put to death by some foul means by the populace, which had no great love of either witches or dragons!) and squeezing the grip, she found her sight picture immediately as all of her training came to bear. One shot followed another in the double tap pattern she knew so well. Again, again, and suddenly, blood flowed, both dragonly green and kingly red.

The plunge to the valley floor was immediate and brutal. It was obvious to all that both the king and the dragon had suffered mortal blows. There would be no recovery, no songs sung that King Jon would ever hear, but his legend would be great, as would all of theirs.

The lawkeeper would be known forever as He Who Brought the Law to the Valley. The songstress would forever be known as She Who Brought Sweet Songs and Safety to the Subjects and the schoolteacher – ahhh, the schoolteacher.

She had a new position in life. All had gone according to plan, all had resolved just as she could have foretold it had she wished to. She, who had delivered the valley, she who had brought those together that would save all who dwelled there, she would be the one of whom they spoke when they shouted to the rooftops, “The King is Dead, Long Live the Queen!”