It was a dream. Terry knew it was a dream because it wasn’t the farm he’d called home for the last twenty-one years. It also wasn’t Raymond, Mississippi. It might be Mississippi, but not one he knew. He stood on the edge of a high bluff overlooking a massive valley. It was filled for as far as the eye could see with one thing. Kudzu. Starting about twenty feet below him it spread infinitely to the left and right and far, far into the distance to trees in what looked like a massive forest. The sun shone in a clear blue sky.
There was a light breeze that ruffled his coal black hair. It was not nearly enough wind for what he was seeing though. The kudzu seemed to move and undulate like a great sea of greenery. It shimmered in the sun as waves passed him into the unknowable distance. The only sound was of infinite rustling leaves.
As he watched, he wondered at the sight. His uncle, Ernest, had always said that Terry was a bright boy, but not very imaginative. He learned quickly, never made the same mistake twice, and could think quicker than most. He just didn’t daydream often, and when he did it was always about real things. Things like his father. He wondered where his mind had conjured this particular vision from. Maybe he’d seen something like this when he was a kid riding the back roads with Ernest and Dottie? Maybe near Vicksburg?
The waves seemed to start breaking around a shape far out in the sea of kudzu. Something started to rise. It looked like a hill was starting to emerge from the ground beneath the plants. The hill, shape, whatever, had a ridge running across the front. As it rose Terry saw two deep caves beneath the ridge. In the center there was a slope and. . .
“Holy Moley.” Terry said, his jaw dropping.
It was a head. It was the size of a stadium and as it rose he saw the entire foliate face of the thing. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but it was ancient. Older than anything he’d ever seen or experienced. As it continued to surface, a thumping sound began at the edge of hearing. It was quiet at first, but gradually became louder. More insistent. Like a heartbeat getting closer.
Its rise stopped right around the chin of the great thing. He gawked at it, and it seemed to stare back at him. They stayed like that for several moments. The face, the thumping that could not be denied. Right as Terry was going to open his mouth to say something, the vast face of leaves moved first. The giant mouth actually opened, and it was a marvel to see. It was horrifying. It was beautiful.
The god-like face spoke.
“It comes. Be strong.”
Terry sat bolt upright in bed. The dream faded and his mind readjusted itself to the new reality, but it was his bed in his tiny trailer on the farm. The pounding rhythm was someone banging on the door. Terry rubbed the sleep from his eyes. A sound like a muted trumpet gradually resolved itself into the voice of his Uncle Ernest, shouting.
“Terry! Are ya up, son? I need ya!”
“It’s Saturday,” he yelled back. “What do you want?”
The banging stopped as soon as he’d answered.
“There’s a booger out at Lethal’s place. Showed up pretty early and tore the fields up.”
Terry pulled the sheet over his head. He’d been on hobgoblin patrol for the last three days and had been ranging over the western side of Hinds County. He was tired, and he'd was sure he was done. He'd thought he'd have a couple days of rest.
“Can it at least wait till breakfast?” he shouted. He knew it wouldn’t but he thought maybe this once?
There was a very long pause at the door before Ernest answered. When he did, his voice was surprisingly gentle. “It’s a dragon. If it was anything else I’d let ya sleep after this week.”
Before Terry realized he was in motion he was already opening the door. He met his uncle’s gaze. The old man’s face was lined and bearded. His hairline receding. It was hard, but the kind of hard you get from caring so much. Terry had to remind himself of that sometimes.
“Can you help me suit up?” Terry asked. He’d put his business face on.
“Yep.” The old man said as Terry took the few steps to his bed and dove under it to look for parts of his armor.
He heard Ernest close the door behind him as he stepped in and started rummaging around trying to find armor that wasn’t where they normally kept it.
“Did’ja let Dottie clean up in here?” the old man asked.
Terry found his boots and chucked them out from under the bed along with his under-clothes. He answered as he dragged himself out from under the bed.
“I didn’t let her do anything. She decided the trailer was a wreck and needed cleaning while I was out. You try stopping her from doing something she set her mind to.”
Ernest turned with the pieces of Terry’s armor in his arms. What had it been doing in the closet? he thought. As Ernest started laying the armor out, he answered.
“I have. I’ll talk to her though.” He didn’t look hopeful about it.
Terry changed into his white and red under-suit and Ernest started fastening plate armor on over the top. It was old and had belonged to Terry’s father but he loved it and cared for it. With practiced movements they had him suited up soon enough. Before adding his outer clothes, Terry knocked on a small sigil on his left breast three times and activated the armor’s minor enchantments. His skin cooled instantly and a lot of the discomfort of the plate vanished. It was still working. He quickly got his tabard and jeans on over the armor as Ernest held out his duster.
The duster, like the armor, had belonged to his father. It too had minor enchantments. The pockets of holding for instance. He checked one and found his sword handle right where he’d left it. He patted it through the outside of the long coat.
The sword was a thing of beauty. Golden cross guard with three gems, two red on either side of a larger blue one, embedded. The blade was nearly white and seemed to draw in and amplify light. It was obviously enchanted. It was unbreakable and never dulled. He had, on several occasions, done more than that.
The other pocket of holding held the only fire arm the Order of St. George allowed him. The “Mercy”. A pistol in name only, it fired huge caliber bullets and had a kick like a mule. It was a two handed weapon at the best of times. At the worst of times, it was a three handed weapon. It often dislocated shoulders. “The Knight’s Last Resort” it was often called.
Ernest looked him up and down. “Not bad. Five minutes this time. Let’s roll.” Terry nodded, and they ran out to the truck.
It was a ten minute drive toward Learned to reach Lethal’s place, and Terry spent his time behind the wheel trying to come up with tactics. It was useless at this stage though. There was information he needed before he could get anything solid.
“Ok.” He said to his uncle. “What do we know so far?”
Ernest had been staring out the window watching the world go by in the early morning light, but he snapped back to himself at Terry’s question.
“It’s a red dragon and Lethal says it’s a doozy. Probably the size of a school bus. Biggest you’ve been up against.” He shook his head. “Damned thing ‘mated’ his tractor into the ground and pushed it all around the field. After that he started eatin’ his cattle like a box of chocolates.”
“Chocolates?” Terry asked with a raised eyebrow.
Ernest shrugged. “It takes a bite out of one, puts it back, bites into another, puts it back, bites another. You get the idea. It's tastin' 'em.”
“They’re cows!” Terry said. “Don’t they all taste the same?”
Ernest gave him a flat look. “I don’t know nothing about dragons except how to kill ‘em. You’re the expert on the damned things.” Ernest squinted at Terry, which made him feel nervous. “Ya got a plan yet?”
Terry found himself grinning. “Yep” was all he said.
The silence stretched for an uncomfortable moment before Ernest snapped.
“AND?!?”
“And,” said Terry, “I’ll be fine.”
“Yer sure?”
Still grinning Terry just nodded. He was lying. Terry despised lying, but in this case he didn’t want to worry his uncle. If he was being honest with himself he was so nervous he should have been vibrating. He couldn’t think clearly. This was the third dragon. The THIRD dragon. He’d been waiting for this. Well, not specifically this, but something like this.
Ernest had to know. He kept track of Terry’s tally as closely as Terry did himself. His time as a squire was almost up. He could take a new title after this. He could start working toward becoming a knight after this. Like his father. Everyone knew about his father locally. No one talked about him locally. All he knew was that his father had been a hero but had died. He’d died facing a dragon.
Terry gripped the steering wheel and tried not to shake them off the road.
A short time later, the truck turned off the main road and wound it’s way down the dirt track leading to Lethal’s house. They passed the house and headed straight to the pastures and fields beyond. There was a small rise there and Terry stopped the truck at the top so Ernest would have a good view of the action.
Terry may be doing the work, but he needed a licensed Steward and that was “Sir” Ernest. He’d never made it as a real knight, but he was considered a fair trainer. And this was it. The final exam. He was here to make sure Terry lived up to the Codes, was competent enough to be a knight, and above all else that he was safe. He was still nervous as he got out of the truck.
As Terry double checked his weapon pockets, Ernest hopped up and sat on the hood of the truck. The old man whistled.
“Now that,” he said, “is a big sumbitch.”
Terry looked and it was, indeed, a huge, red dragon. Head to rump the thing actually was the size of a school bus. All of forty feet. The tail added another ten on top of that. He (and it was now obviously a he) was also vigorously going to town on the remains of a red tractor like he was the last of his species. Terry scratched the back of his head and looked at the rest of the field. There were half-cows scattered around and huge, deep ruts gouged into the ground. It looked like someone had drunkenly tried to recreate the battlefields of World War I down there.
“You finally made it.” A voice said behind the both of them. Terry spun and Ernest looked over his shoulder. Lethal was an older man. Older than Ernest. He was skinny but the kind of skinny you get after having rapidly lost weight. The man had been sick a long time. Even with that and the kindness of his neighbors he was a complete grump. Like most of the men out here, he wore a full beard. Some fashion thing picked up from the dwarves in town.
Ernest nodded to him. “Can’t sit by the phone in armor waitin’ on yer cows to get eaten, can he?” He turned to watch the dragon and it’s noisy love-making. “Besides, this’ll be over quick enough.”
Lethal came around the front of the truck and looked like he was going to say something infuriating. He usually did. Terry simply marched himself down the hill and approached the dragon as it collapsed the engine compartment of the man’s tractor in a fit of passion. The thing's back was to them. Mating season for saurians, Terry thought as he squatted down into a crouched run at the bottom of the rise.
The dragon was raking its claws along the side of the destroyed farm equipment and Terry stopped beside one of the long trenches left by the sliding tractor. He thought about his next move. He didn’t want to take chances. No showboating. No theatrics. Do this quick and clean. Well, quick and dirty in this case. He reached for the Mercy.
Terry stood to his full height and leveled the over-sized pistol in one hand at the dragon’s left flank. The dragon still hadn’t looked up. He just kept grinding. Terry said a silent prayer and braced his shoulder for what was about to happen. He fired. The gun, as usual, kicked hard but Terry got it lowered and sighted again quickly. He fired four more times at the thing. It finally looked up. The bullets had done nothing. You forgot the stupid scales he thought as the massive head swung and a green eye zeroed in on him.
The neck on the dragon inflated like a bull frog and Terry gulped. He knew what this was. It was mixing chemicals in its neck sack and as soon as it opened it’s mouth it was going to blast him with fire. He turned and dove into a trench just as the flames singed the hem of his coat. He rolled and sat, back to the trench side and panted as the flames continued above him. So much for that idea. The flames stopped.
He peaked over the scorched top of the trench and saw the dragon was panting as well. It was trying to inflate its neck sack again but it would take time for the the chemical glands to refill. Not long though. His mind raced. What was the solution here? He reviewed what he knew about red dragons as quickly as he could. Amorous, violent, vain, hoarders. . .
There it was. He fished in his pockets trying not to rush himself into a panic. There, he thought. Thirty-nine cents. Not much, but it would do on a sunny day like today. Was his life worth thirty-nine cents? May as well find out. He stood and stepped over the rim of the trench.
“HEY!” he shouted.
The dragon looked at him and leapt from the tractor finally. It began a slow run towards him. He tossed his change to his left and yelled.
“FETCH!”
The sun glinted off of the coins as they spun through the air and the dragon skidded to a halt. It’s head swung to follow the coins and the darned thing bounced up and down a couple of times seeming excited. It looked at Terry, looked toward where the coins fell, back at Terry, back at the coins.
Terry didn’t give it a chance to turn back. He closed the distance in a burst of speed, his sword already in his hands, the handle seeming to stretch to fit them both. He dropped to his bottom and slid directly between the great beast’s front claws until he came to a stop between it’s pectoral plates. With a shout he thrust the sword between the two all the way to the bejeweled hilt.
The dragon threw it’s head back and screamed as blood and foul smelling chemicals ran from the sides of its mouth. Terry scrambled out from underneath, barely pulling his sword free as the thing’s legs gave out and it collapsed straight down and then onto its side. The neck fell like a tree in the forest and the head bounced against the ground.
He stood there staring at it for a long moment, trying to catch his breath.
“I did it.” He said. It felt so good to say he said it again. “I DID IT!!” He threw his hands in the air.
He turned and waved to his uncle who was standing on the front bumper of the truck and whooping like a madman. Terry tried to wipe the grin from his face as he cleaned his sword with a cloth from his pocket. He turned back to the dragon and knelt to pray. He plunged the tip of the sword in the ground and began.
“Holy Father, I thank you for this-“
“DO THAT LATER!” Ernest yelled. “CUT OFF THE HEAD, AND LET’S GET TO TOWN!”
Terry sighed heavily and stood. Ernest NEVER showed the proper respect.
This was going to be very, very messy.
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