Part Four: The Adventures of Wyatt Narr, Hero of Dragons

Check out http://www.peterlast.com/blog/2015/10/25/heroofdragonspartthree/ for Part Three of Wyatt's story.

               Wyatt glared angrily at the old man. His distraction gave the bandit an opening to swing the oversized claymore, which Wyatt only barely managed to duck. The little dragon spewed another stream of flames, causing Wyatt to huddle behind his makeshift shield.

                Poking his head out from around the battered metal once the fiery assault had slowed, Wyatt hollered, “Stop trying to kill me! I’m here to rescue you!”

                Jim rolled his eyes, leaning on his staff with a heavy sigh.

                The little beast stomped its front feet and roared. Grimacing, Wyatt rubbed his wrist against one ear, almost stabbing the opposite arm with the point of his sword. “Use your words,” he yelled at the dragon. “I don’t understand roar.”

                “Attack!” the bandit shrieked, waving his claymore in the air. The heavy weapon almost overbalanced him, causing him to stagger sideways. In response, the dragon pounced forward, front legs sliding down as its maw opened wide.

                Wyatt stared down the little dragon’s throat, but he wasn’t seeing the flicker of flame growing into a fireball. Brow creased, he gnawed his lip as he tried to tease out an idea lurking around the edges of his consciousness. “The sword!” he exclaimed suddenly, and then gave a girlish scream as he dodged the fireball the dragon had just spat at him.

                Picking himself up from the dirt, Wyatt charged at the bandit with his best warrior yell. Surprised by the sudden attack, the bandit stumbled back a step, the claymore dipping toward the earth. Leaping forward, Wyatt stomped on the wavering blade, driving its point into the ground. The move jerked the claymore from the bandit’s hand, sending the bandit stumbling forward.

                Wyatt dropped his shield, snatching at the claymore’s hilt before the bandit could grab it. With a grunt, he heaved the heavy sword up, resting it against his shoulder. “Sit!” he commanded the dragon.

                The dragon sat.

                The bandit was backing away, eyes wide. “Listen, why don’t we just agree to go our separate ways?” he said placatingly, holding out his hands.

                A grin covering his face, Wyatt said, “Chase off that bandit.”

                With a flick of its long scaly tail, the baby dragon gave a rumbly growl that somehow managed to convey laughter. Snapping its head back, the dragon roared, flickers of fire dancing around its sharp teeth. Then it sprang forward, claws ripping through the earth as it moved.

                Shrieking, the bandit fled, running faster than Wyatt had ever seen a man run. The dragon stayed right on his heels, snapping its jaws and sending out puffs of smoke and short streams of flame.

                A sword resting on each shoulder, Wyatt watched with vast enjoyment as the dragon and bandit disappeared around a curve in the road. “Well,” he said smugly, turning to Jim. “How did I do?”

                Jim just leaned on his staff with a sardonic expression, looking as old as ever. If he hadn’t seen it himself, Wyatt would never have believed this old bag of bones would be capable of the flurry of blows Jim had landed on the bandit. “I’ve seen worse,” Jim said begrudgingly.

                Wyatt frowned at the lackluster praise and then gave a shrug. Sheathing his own sword by sliding it into the loop of twine on his back, he let the flat of the claymore drop into his now-free hand. It was one of the longest swords he’d ever seen, over six feet from hilt to tip. It was made of finely worked steel, the telltale blue gleam revealing its quality. The pommel of the sword was formed by a glittering red jewel, encased in a fine wire net.

                Jim moved closer, hobbling a little. He tapped a fingernail against jewel, producing a deep peal out of proportion with its size. “That right there is what was controlling the dragon,” he said.

                Setting the sword point first in the dirt, Wyatt tilted it toward him so that the jewel was at eye level. “What is it?” he asked curiously, squinting at the pommel.

                “It’s a Dragon Tear,” Jim said softly, his eyes distant. “I wonder how that brigand came by it.”

                “Dragon Beer?” Wyatt said, brow wrinkling. “What a weird name.”

                Jim sighed in disgust. “No, I said…” But whatever he had been going to say was lost as the baby dragon reappeared around the curve of the hill. It was moving with a peculiar loping motion, its wings half-open and fluttering in the breeze. As the beast came closer, the two men could see it had a set to its toothy jaw that was reminiscent of a smile.

                The dragon came right up to Wyatt, causing the young man to fall back a step, remembering the fireballs the beast had spit at him. But the dragon just flopped down in the dust, crossing its front legs one over the other, and gazed up at Wyatt with undisguised adoration.

                “Um…” Wyatt said hesitantly. “Good dragon?”

                Pouncing to its feet, the dragon gave a rumbly growl and shoved its scaly head under Wyatt’s hand. Wyatt gave a startled yell, jerking backward. The dragon flinched and sat down hard on its rump. Releasing a low, moaning growl, the little beast looked at Wyatt with a hurt expression.

                Hesitantly, Wyatt reached out a hand toward the dragon. He gave it a quick pat on the head, right between two stubby little horns, and then yanked his hand back. When the dragon did not try to eat his hand or anything, he reached out again, this time a little more boldly. As he scratched the rough scales between the dragon’s horns, the little beast hummed low in its throat and tilted its head, eyes closing blissfully.

                “Congratulations,” Jim drawled. “You’re a new mother.”