November 5

Word Count: 1,795

“Rot?” Iber sputtered. “Rot?”

“There’s gotta be another reason why all three of us are out here on horseback tracking down some pests that the Great Dragon could exterminate with a sneeze, if someone asked him to. Instead, here we are riding into danger, protected by nothing put our wits and some experimental fabric… which by the way, will not protect us from being eaten… only roasted alive.”

Iber stared back at Malek, as if partially stunned by his words, and his sudden verbosity.

“Snult can’t save us from everything,” Lasser added from the other side of Iber. “Saratin knows that, and he also knows that if we don’t stick together and take on some responsibility, we’re not going to be prepared.”

“Prepared for what?” Iber asked.

“Prepared for anything, of course. We’re living in a new world… or an old one, depending on how you look at it,” Lasser stated as he peered up into the trees.

Iber’s horse skitted slightly to the left, and Iber reached down to administer a reassuring pat.

Malek knew that Lasser was speaking the simple truth. The world had changed overnight for all of them. If you had asked Malek a year ago what he would have been doing now, the last thing he would have imagined would have been living in a little cottage married to a tailor’s daughter, working around the cottage and as a village locksmith when one of the villagers actually got up the gumption to ask him.

They had ridden in silence too long.

“So Lasser,” Iber began again, “how many dragons are we after?”

“The villagers said they saw two, but suspected three.”

“Three would be the perfect number! One for you, one for me, and one for…”

“I’d rather we outnumbered them,” Malek added.

“Well, if you count the cat, I’d say we’re quite ahead. Don’t you think?” Iber grinned at Lasser and Malek in turn, hoping for a response. Iber turned to look behind them. “Speaking of the cat? Where is he?” Malek scouted for Pylon, but could not spot his lithe green body anywhere among the trees.

“He’s probably around. He wouldn’t leave us.” Pylon was loyal for a cat. He didn’t seem to know his size and color were unusual. It had taken several uncomfortable nights for Malek to convince Pylon that he didn’t belong in the bed, and that the blankets on the floor were nice enough to curl up in. At least the cat stopped purring when he was asleep. Sometimes his purr alone was enough to rattle Malek’s bones. If Mitty hadn’t insisted, Malek would have rather Pylon stayed with her, even though she was probably quite safe in the cottage.

“Really. I hope he’s off stalking dragons!” Iber chuckled nervously. “Even though we have at least an hour’s ride to the area where they were spotted. Actually, it might be a good time to stop for lunch. After all, we don’t want to fight dragons on an empty stomach now do we?”

“A last meal?” Malek sardonically stated.

“Yes… I mean no,” Iber stated, finally catching on to his meaning. “I mean, not in the it’s the last meal you’re going to eat before you die kind of way, more of the we must keep up our strength before the battle kind of-”

In a greenish brownish blur, Iber went from waving his hand about in emphasis to being pinned to the ground by about two hundred pounds of dragon. His large silver epaulets probably saved his life as the dragon got one of them stuck in his jaws. In a flash, both Malek and Lasser were off their horses, daggers unsheathed. Too concerned with the metal preventing it from biting, the dragon didn’t notice until it was too late and Malek’s dagger plunged into the soft area in his neck and Lasser’s plunged in at the apex under his ribs. It struggled once, before throwing up blood all over Iber’s neck and dying. Lasser and Malek removed their daggers and rolled the beast off the prone Iber.

“You okay?” Lasser asked. Iber paused to assess the situation.

“I suppose that if being covered in dragon blood and throw up, but physically unharmed is okay… then that would describe my situation accurately.” Lasser offered Iber a hand up, and the three of them stood in the middle of the forest staring at the dragon which was supposed to be an hour away. It’s blood was still pooling out and sinking into the earth.

“The horses are gone,” Iber commented.

“Sorry. We had a choice between you and the horses,” Malek said.

“Thanks for choosing me,” Iber said as he bent his epaulet back into some semblance of its former shape.

“It wasn’t an easy decision.”

“At least we now only have two left,” Lasser added.

“One, I believe.” Iber motioned to Pylon who was casually licking his paws clean of dragon blood about ten yards away.

“Shall we?” Lasser asked. Iber drew his sword.

“Yes. It might be a long day… but I plan to be ready for it.”

The three of them walked along the path that led through the forest, Iber now more content with the silence. His head turned at every stray breeze and he watched Pylon as a man with a death sentence watches the sun.

Luncheon forgotten, they crossed a stream in the late afternoon. Malek and Lasser agreed to stand guard while Iber bathed. Malek was eager to facilitate a cleaning. Iber was beginning to smell like a three day old dead horse.

“Drat!” Iber stated vehemently while holding up his shirt. The two men stared at him. “What? I think it’s going to stain.” He dunked his shirt again and rubbed it against a rock.

“I’d be surprised if it didn’t ruin your shirt. It was your epithet, I think,” Lasser looked at Malek for an agreement, “that amused us.”

“And what is wrong with drat?”

“Mitty uses stronger language than that,” Malek replied

“She does?”

“Indeed. After what you’ve been through, and as we are not in the presence of ladies, I’d guess you were entitled to something a bit stronger.”

“Okay. How about damn?” Iber eagerly awaited their approval. Malek tried not to snicker.

“Iber had definitely not been introduced to the art of the insult.”

“Art? I should think insulting was an art.” Iber stood to inspect his shirt again. He sighed when he saw no progress.

“Anyone can use a one word insult,” Malek replied, “but it takes true intellect to come up with an appropriate dig.”

“I agree, I’ve watched many a man crumble from one well placed insult.”

“The two of you make it sound like that’s all men do – sit around a campfire and make up insults.” The two grinned as Iber rang out his shirt.

“And what do you do?”

“Well, practice sword fighting, discuss military history, write poetry.”

“Poetry? Is that what noblemen do? Write poetry?” Lasser questioned.

“Well, yes. We do in fact. How else does one woo a woman?”

“Speaking as the only married man, I can definitely say it did not involve poetry,” Malek answered.

“Well, did it involve insults?”

“I’d definitely insult anyone who got in my way.”

“So you’d be willing to compromise on the fact that insulting and poetics have equal parts in wooing?” Iber asked.

“Is there a reason we’re having this conversation?” Malek asked, suddenly feeling very silly.

“Well then, I shall teach you to write love poetry, and you can teach me the art of insult.”

“I already have a wife,” Malek stated.

“I bet she’d still like some poetry,” Iber stated, raising his eyebrows. “And I bet that poetry would be more useful to Lasser than insulting if he wishes to find a wife.”

“I’ll take that bet, you drooling scum sucking son of a flea infested goat,” Lasser stated vehemently.

“What?” Iber questioned as he donned his damp, yet odor free clothes. “Oh that was an insult. Good. Right. Flea infested. Okay.”

“Then let’s get moving, you pestilent ruptured canker blossom,” Malek said, joining in.

“That’s really quite gross,” Iber said as he waded out of the stream.

“It’s supposed to be you tick plagued, leech sucking, vacuous son of a bureaucrat.”

“I like that one… vacuous. That’s a good word. Vacuous. What does it mean?

“It means, you scum licking, bloated carrion, that we’d better make it to the village on time, or the dragon may be coming at us for dessert.”

“Doesn’t he have to have a main course first?” Iber said cheerfully.

“Not really, you dim witted yellow hearted dog,” Malek stated, feeling his own mood begin to lift. It felt good. In fact, he was almost ready to smile… until he saw Pylon crouch down low and try to hide behind a patch of grass while staring intently at something in the canopy overhead. Without missing a beat, Malek pulled an arrow out of his quiver and notched it into his bow. He spared a glance at Lasser, who had followed his lead, his movements losing all playfulness. Even Iber who was still slightly sloshing along, gathered his wits and held his sword at the ready.

A dragon dropped onto to the path in front of them and it quickly found two arrows piercing its heart.

“Good show! That should be the last…” Malek’s attention turned to Pylon who was still watching the treeline.

“There’s more up there… isn’t there?” Iber turned slightly, examining the trees above him. “How many.”

“At least three,” Lasser replied. “Probably more.”

“Oh. I don’t suppose that’s good news.”

“It gets worse.”

“Worse?” Iber stared at the ranger.

“I think they’re organizing. They’re surrounding us.” A strong scent of singed wood filled the air.”

“Saratin told me once that only the females breathe fire.”

“Good for Saratin,” Malek exclaimed. A fire breathing dragon was still a fire breathing dragon, no matter which gender it was.

“At least we’ll get to test the new fabric,” Iber stated.

“Yeah. Too bad we didn’t learn Saratin’s new trick of popping in and out at will.”

“Nobody told me Saratin was popping.”

“Well maybe if you lived in Tamarin, you wouldn’t have that problem.”

“Gentlemen please, I don’t think this is the time.”

“Right, you scurvy gum rotten knave!” Lasser shouted.

“I agree, you dingy fart for a face boil.”

“Is this really the time?” Iber asked.

“Can you think of something better to do?” The three had formed a defensive circle, protecting their backs as best they could.

The first dragon dropped down from the trees. Malek took a shot, and his arrow glanced off. By the time he took his second shot, two more dragons had dropped beside the first.