That One Time I Went on a Quest

Dragon Fire (1/2)

Two days later we pass by an empty town. A lone wagon, stripped of wheels and decorated with bits of torn yellow fabric, sits in the middle of the street covered in wind-blown junk. Plastered on the walls of every building are yet fresh-looking flyers featuring cross-shaped lizards.

Every house is abandoned, their swinging doors dancing to the rogue bells atop the village chapel, which is only a stone's throw from the edge of the highway. The chapel's walls are splattered with what looks like green paint; someone had scribbled onto it two big white lines of profanity, declaring in colourful language the end of the world.

I shrink back from the window. The scenery has triggered a few unwanted thoughts that have so far been repressed by the comings and goings of the day. They're very loud now, and louder still they'll get as Iborus draws closer.

There's no variety to them; they're simply 'I can't handle dragons' and 'this isn't a good idea' repeated a thousand times with differing levels of panic. An esquire of Kathanhiel shouldn't think these thoughts. They're cowardly, embarrassing, shameful...not to mention cowardly...and shameful...

But what am I supposed to do, with my steel toothpick and armour of leather?

Kathanhiel hasn't said a word about how we're going to proceed – our strategy and such. Every time I ask her this she just taps Kaishen on the scabbard and tells me to stay safe.

The lack of reassurance is nerve-wracking, and every day the nerves get worse.

During that afternoon's training I had landed a hit on Haylis' hip – for the first time ever – and in return she punched me on the nose hard enough to move it sideways. Her horrified and apologetic face looked comical; that's why I laughed at it, all high-pitched and out of breath and choking on my own blood.

She had sounded high-pitched too. 'I'm sorry I didn't mean to swing so hard I didn't realise what I'm doing –'

Oh the hilarity!

Later, as I poured boiling water into Kathanhiel's teacup, I forgot that I was pouring boiling water and emptied half the kettle onto my hands. She took it away before I could empty the other half, and said not a word.

Then, for the third time that day, I ended up in the horses' room before remembering that Arkai had Killisan taken away. Bobby is not the same; a great white stallion is not a creature one could casually approach, never mind having a conversation with.

By night my hands were shaking again. They weren't as bad in the morning, but now the pathetic dance routine is back.

Dragons. Dragons are coming. Any day now.

Another day, another morning with nothing to fight; despite having passed three abandoned towns now there's still no sign of them. We are alone in the middle of the vast plains, running north on a highway that will never end. The flat greens stretching endlessly in every direction make our coach seem like a rudderless boat, drifting down a river of stone towards a great chasm just beyond the horizon.

This waiting has to be worse than actually fighting. It has to be.

Otherwise I'm more of a coward than I thought.

Yet another day of dreadful waiting later, we reach the crossroads. Here the highway intersects with a road that runs east to the Ford.

Smoke is rising on the eastern horizon.

After two minutes of gazing at it, Kathanhiel announces from the roof, 'that's not dragon fire; too fine and too scattered.'