A Small, Elderly Dragon

A Small, Elderly Dragon


What follows is not an average fairy tale. It does not have a charming, elegant damsel in distress, having been captured by a hideous, vicious dragon, and no knight in shining armor willing to save her, much less marry her. I will accent again that this is not a fairy tale that has a flaming, tyrannous dragon. What this story has is a small, elderly dragon. A small, elderly dragon called Embyer.

When Embyer was younger, he would go to the village below his home in the mountain. He would stomp their houses, burn their crops and eat their chickens. Occasionally, he might eat their houses , burn their crops and stomp on their chickens. Since he never really wanted to do any of this, he made his trips to the village only annually. But when Embyer was young he could make such a fantastic display, the town’s people would be talking about him until he came next year and every day they would send some of their best youths to Embyer trying to please him.

But as Embyer grew older, he would go to the village less and less frequently, seeing as age was putting out his fire, and he could barely make it down the mountain anymore without having a coughing fit. Instead of speaking of the terror he inflicted on the village, the residents spoke of how they were never really afraid of him.

The town did however occasionally send up youths to him. Usually spoiled, loud, cranky, abrasive youths who were not wanted in the village anyway. Yelling and complaining, they would be carted off to the foot of Embyer’s mountain, white gowns and all, to be dumped there for the dragon. Embyer would look out of his cave and usher the newcomers in.

Embyer was never a dragon who liked human flesh, and was now so old he could only eat insects and small birds. He never ate the youths who were given to him, and just kept them to play checkers with. Soon after they knew they were in no danger, they got very loud and demanding, even having the nerve to tell Embyer, a dragon, a member of the most powerful and ancient race on earth, that they didn’t like his lentil soup. Eventually, the youths simply wandered back to the village to be shunned as escaped dragon food because the village never wanted to associate with these obnoxious youths anyway.

Embyer was lying in his cave one day, curling up and preparing to pass away. He was making himself comfortable with a cup of tea, seeing as dying can take centuries, as dragons go. He was completely oblivious to the fact that very soon there would be many people sent to intrude on him and not allow him a moment’s peace to die in.

Some miles from the cave there was a castle. Let me remind you one more time that this is not an average fairy tale and therefore does not have an average king who nobly commands other people. What this story does have is Lord Fitzgizle, the schizophrenic king who thinks he IS other people. Tell of Embyer’s getting on in years had reached all the way to the castle and this worried the nobility greatly. Every respectable kingdom in the world had some kind of harpy or cyclops or monster or dragon that terrorized the village. It was simply unheard of, and an unspeakable faux pas not to have some kind of tyrannical beast wreaking havoc on the land at least once a year. (Even if the beast was, as in some cases, the king.) Embyer’s aging left them a kingdom with out the imperative monster.

The king’s advisor, Melvin, was concocting a plan to assist in this regard. It took him much longer then it would take other people because he kept forgetting what his plan was every few minutes and had to think it up again. But (eventually) the thought remained in his head long enough to tell the king.

“Your Majesty!”he started. The thought slipped his mind again and he searched around to retrieve it. The seconds turned into minutes, the minutes turned into hours. Several days later, Melvin was ready to continue: “I am sure the matter of the soon-to-be-deceased dragon, Embyer, has come to your attention.”

‘Dragon?!! Where?!!” screamed Lord Fitzgizle. He jerked his head to the side to look left. He snarled at the empty air beside him.

“Quiet you fool!” He answered himself. “There is no dragon here!” He jerked his head again to face right.

“Well what are you going to do about it?”

“I’ll show you what I am going to do about it! Just because you live inside my head doesn’t mean I can’t beat you silly!” The king immediately proceeded to mercilessly pound himself with both fists about the head and face.

“If your Majesties would be so kind as to let me continue. ..” Melvin was feeling rushed to deliver his idea before it fled his body again, perhaps permanently. “The townsfolk of ours and other kingdoms must be convinced that our dragon is in good health! To this effect I have noticed four things:
1) If we are to convince The Populous of our dragon’s vigor, we must replace the small, elderly one we have.
Two) Our old dragon must be disposed of secretly.
III) A knight vs dragon fight will win the hearts of the people.
D) The knight cannot attack the dragon unprovoked. An ideal provocation would be a princess in distress. I was thinking your daughter, Arcona. . .”

The king was confused. Among other things he was completely mystified about how the two of them had gotten from 1) to D).

“But what” said Lord Fitzgizle “Would our daughter have to do?” The king jerked his head to answer himself. “It’s obvious, you fool! She has to... uh... sheeee... Melvin, what does Arcona have to do?”

“That” said Melvin “Is the next part of my plan. What your princess must do is simply get captured by the dragon.”

“The small, elderly one?”

“That one precisely! Subsequently, a knight must be sent to reclaim her. The old dragon will be captured, and the princess “rescued”. Then, after a little time has past, the dragon must escape!”

“The little one?”

“Not this time! The little one stays. We let out a dragon the size of a small planet. He fails to steal the princess, but flies back to the cave in the mountain.”

“Is that all?”

“Well, we have to make sure he spurts flame and destroys a village or two, flies over head and lets everyone have a real good look at him from miles around. You know, for publicity! To make sure everyone knows how big and strong and spry our dragon is.”

“Is that all?

“Well, we’ll of course need some dragon wranglers. And with Arcona’s temperament, we’ll probably need a princess wrangler or two.”

Just then a pair of people in comically colored clothes blundered out from behind the throne.

“Shut up, Ike!” said one, punching the other in the head. “You’re giving us away!”

“You’re crazy, Mike!” shouted the other. “YOU’RE giving us away!”

“I know who our princess wranglers should be!” said Lord Fitzgizle. “You can tell her jokes!”

“Jokes?! THEM?!” screeched Melvin “They haven’t said anything remotely funny in twelve years!”

“Oh, but they have!” cried Lord Fitzgizle “Tell that one you told yesterday, Ike! Remember? “I’ll take one and a chicken wing!” Remember that one?”

“Not only,” retorted Ike “Is that joke as old as Embyer, and as stupid as my dear brother Mike, I didn’t tell it to you!”

“Oh, silly me! It must have been Higgy-Joe!”
“Higgy-Joe?” asked the psychotic jester.

“You don’t know Higgy-Joe? Oh, you’d love him, Ike.” The king raised his hand as if to say something important. “He lives in my finger.”

“Sire, I don’t believe these are exactly the people to be princess wranglers. Maybe they should try being dragon wranglers.”

Mike threw himself on his knees and begged to the king.

“Oh, please don’t force me to try to tame a hideous, fire-breathing scaly lizard! I gravel before you!”

Ike rolled his eyes.

“Don’t worry, we’ve been re-assigned to the dragon!” Ike pulled Mike to his feet. “And it’s grovel not gravel! Now come. I have something I want to show you on top of the roof of the highest tower.”

“I don’t know if I want to go up that high with you... didn’t you already try to kill me once this week?”

“Kill you? You’re being ridiculous! Mike, my dear brother, I eviscerate you!”

“Oh! Well, if you like me that much!”

Mike and Ike ascended the stairs to the tower. A short moment later, Melvin and Lord Fitzgizle heard Mike and Ike on the turret roof.

“I don’t see a Chesapeak Bay Retriever on a unicycle! Ike? Ike?! AAAAAAAAAAAA!” Which was followed by a loud thud below.

Attention was taken away from Mike and Ike by a loud crack coming from up a flight of winding stairs to the royal bedrooms. This was followed by Arcona marching down the stairs quickly while carrying a very powerful looking gun. Flitting along behind her was Flora, her handmaiden, who’s job it was to try to turn the girl in green fatigues and black combat boots into a proper princess, and at which Flora had thus far failed.

Arcona stopped in the middle of the throne room and eyed the room and it’s contents viciously. She looked like she just came out of the trenches. She had mud on her face, her green fatigues, and her black boots. Her shoulder length blond hair was matted and caked with who-knows-what. Arcona looked and acted more like a rebel leader of some kind than a princess.

Flora’s blue dress ruffled as she jumped up and down, trying to be heard, beside Arcona, who was more than a foot taller.

“My dear, Arcona! I’ve told you many, many times! It is not right for a princess to go gallivanting around in military clothing looking like she just crawled out of a hole in the ground! And no lady should carry a gun, especially not one that big!”

Arcona stomped up to Lord Fitzgizle. She pointed at his face.

“And I’ve told YOU many times!” she grunted in a surprisingly low voice. “I heard the word “dragon” mentioned! On matters concerning lizards, warfare, or coleslaw, consult ME!”

“Of course my sweet, gravely-voiced little hot-pepper.”

“Coleslaw?” Melvin asked. Arcona shrugged.

“What? I like coleslaw.”

“Well,” said Melvin “We were just about to consult you on a certain point- would you be terribly against being captured by a dragon?”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that!” Arcona muttered.

“Well then...” suggested Melvin “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind going out to Mike and Ike and telling them to go to the dragon farm for me? Tell them to pick out a big one.”

Arcona thought about this for a moment. She agreed reluctantly and made her way out of the palace.

Arcona found Mike and Ike in the garden beside the palace turret. Mike lay on the ground groaning slightly and Ike stood nonchalantly nearby, poking his brother with a stick.

“Get up! On your feet!” she barked suddenly “NOW!” Mike and Ike were standing side by side in front of Arcona immediately.

“Melvin sent you to the dragon farm! He wants you to bring him as big a dragon as you can! Get moving! Go! Go! Go! Now! Now! Now!” Mike and Ike wasted no time in fulfilling the order. In fact, they were off as fast as they could be.

Mike and Ike walked down a path through the forest.

“Um, Ike? Do we know where the dragon farm is?”

“Well...no...”

“Shouldn’t we turn back and ask?”

“You want us to brave a hideous beast, strong as a thousand armies, skin hard as a sheet of granite, foul-smelling, that could explode in a fit of murderous rage at the drop of the slightest hat?” Ike snorted scoffingly. “I’d rather wander around until we blunder right into one of the breeding pens at the dragon farm than go back and talk to her!”

Suddenly Mike and Ike were staring down the bolt of a crossbow. Their eyes roamed up the bolt, across the crossbow, to the person holding the weapon. He was a huge man with skin like rhinoceros hide, hair like steel wool, and breath like a garbage dump. Not to mention a face that looked like it had been run over several times at horse-racing track. He did not look like a man who missed very often with that crossbow of his, especially at point blank. There were several others behind him, and himself and his troop were all dressed in what may have at one point been guards’ uniforms.

“Drop and give us twenty!” The man with the crossbow bellowed in a low, thick voice, like a congested bear. Mike and Ike tilted their heads.

“Don’t you mean “Your money or your life?” or maybe “Stand and deliver?” That’s a popular one too.” Mike suggested helpfully, only to have the point of the crossbow pressed against his chest.

“I don’t tell you how to do your job.”

“Fair enough.” Mike and Ike dropped to the ground and did twenty push ups. The man with the crossbow lowered his weapon.

“Well, now that we’re done with that, my boys and I must get going. Lots of travelers on this road to exercise.”

“Wait!” Ike shouted as the men turned. “Uh...that’s quite a fine weapon you’ve got there-I’m a bit of a marksman myself.”

“Yeah, and I’m usually his target.” complained Mike. The leader of the bandits ignored Mike and held up his crossbow for Ike to see, smiling proudly.

“Isn’t it a beauty? The bow’s solid, polished oak with cast iron metal parts. Extremely accurate too, and an easy user-interface: you just put the bolt in, wind the bow back and pull the trigger then: viola! Victim on a stick. I got a set of excellent bolts recently: light as a feather, strong as an ox, sharp as a dragon’s fangs!”

“That brings me to my next point!” Ike declared. “You wouldn’t know where the local dragon farm is, would you?”

“Which one?” one of the bandits in the back asked. They began popping up with names of places.

“Do you mean Dragon Depot?” That’s right down the east road.”
“Maybe Dragon World! That’s down the east road too.”

“Then there’s Dragons-R-Us, also down the east road.”

“Don’t forget The Dragon Shoppe down the east road!”

“Not to mention D-Mart! East road.” This last comment had barely come out when the crossbow man shouted for his troops to shut up then turned to Mike and Ike.

“Actually, there’s lots of places to choose from. Just look for the Dragon District down the east road.”

“Thanks.”

“Hope to catch you on your way back.”

“No you don’t: we’ll have a dragon with us then.”

“Oh, right. Be seeing you some other time then.” The men disappeared into the trees.