Tuesday Tale - The Hackney Dragon

And so it was that Sir Rodney the Strong found himself on the road outside the Village of Hackney, searching for the dragon which, the villagers said, had tried to burn them out. He thought he knew where to look for the dragon, after all, the many, many years of dragon hunting had honed his senses and his skills, even though age threatened to dull them beyond recognition.

Sir Rodney was old. Sir Rodney was the last of his kind. Just as the dragon, this particular dragon, was likely the last of its kind, as well. He knew that once this particular dragon was dispatched, it was more than likely all over. No more would he be summoned hither, thither and yon to slay the one and many dragons that plagued the countryside. His job was nearly done. The dragons were nearly gone.

He looked about and then he saw it. The tall, thin column of light grey smoke slowly ascending up into the light of the fullsome moon, bright on this, the last night of summer. The smoke arose from behind a small patch of wood which lay between him and the dell which snuggled in the bosom of the two hills beyond. The smoke would be from the sleeping dragon. Dragons snore - and when they snore, they start small fires in their immediate vicinity. A weakness that all dragons had - that somehow, they never seemed to catch on to. Smoke had cost many a dragon its life.

He knew this place. Many years before a dragon had lived here - in that very dell, in fact, and he suspected that this dragon was the offspring of that ancient foe he slew here. Which made this particular dragon a bit more dangerous than one whom he'd had no connection with - if this one knew his smell, and caught smell of him before he was ready for the encounter, he could find the tables turned and he would be the hunted, not the hunter. If.

There was no wind to speak of, so his approach was one of stealth rather than one concerned with where the breeze was coming from. He picked his way through the thick stand of trees, careful not to make any sound which might alert the sleeping dragon to his approach - for sleep though they may, dragons could wake instantly, at the slightest sound. At last he could see into the dell. Small fires burned and smoldered here and there, but the dell was empty.

"Well, Sir Rodney, I presume." The low and rumbling voice came from behind him. "I assume you're looking for me, Sir Rodney. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Bryge and I am the daughter of Elmeera, whom you slew in this very place forty years ago."

Sir Rodney said nothing - but stood there, eyes closed, waiting for the breath of flame which would consume him and send him to Valhalla and his ancestors.

"Sir Rodney, what IS that smell? I say, clean yourself. Your armor will rust."

"Do what you are going to do, Bryge. I am ready to die. I am not ready to be tortured."

"Why?", asked Bryge. "Why, what?", asked Sir Rodney.

"Why must you or I kill the other?"

"Well, for one thing, you tried to burn out the Village of Hackney. It is they who have hired me to dispatch you."

"Dispatch? Interesting euphemism. Did they say anything about why I "tried to burn out the village?"

"No. It's not like we discussed motives. They said, 'Go kill the dragon' and I said, "Okay". They asked, 'Standard fees?' and I said 'Sure' and they said 'Okay'. That was it. Oh, and yeah, they did tell me you tried to burn them out."

"They didn't tell you all, Sir Rodney. They kept some things from you."

"Really. Such as?"

"What do you see in the center of the dell?"

"I dunno. Rocks. No. Wait ... Those are eggs. Dragon eggs. I haven't seen dragon eggs in many, many years."

"You've killed just about all of us who could lay them, Sir Rodney. Kill me and those will never hatch. They will, in fact, be the last of their kind - the last dragon eggs anyone will ever see."

"I'm afraid you have the advantage, Bryge. I think, at this moment, I have more to fear than do you. Your eggs are safe, at least for now."

"Ah, but that is the point, Sir Rodney. If I kill you, there will be someone else to follow in your footsteps. If you live, there may be a chance to change the course of events. In any case, those eggs are the reason you are here. The villagers have been sending young men out here to collect the eggs. They seem to think that feeding the village for a day is more important than the survival of the whole and ancient race of dragons. I burned down two hay ricks behind the livery stable in order to warn them to stay away from my eggs. Instead, they hire you. Humans are stubborn. And stupid. That's a bad combination and dangerous."

"What do you expect me to do?"

"Help me. Help me keep them away from my eggs."

"Now how am I supposed to do that?"

"That, Sir Rodney, is a question that you must answer - and answer well, for the answer will save your life. Or not."


Tune in next week, same time, same station, for the exciting conclusion of "The Hackney Dragon".

Ndinombethe.