The Roar of a Dragon (2 page)

The next couple of months went by without further incident. There were a few difficult days here and there. — as I was working in the fields one mid-summer day, I was shaken when I thought I heard my mother calling me in for supper. It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened; the dreams I’d had about my mother when I was younger still haunted me, despite the fact that I’d never met her.

But, for the most part, working on the farm was a hard, but rewarding experience. Animals had their off-days, just like humans, but for the most part, they did their jobs. I’d always appreciated my father, but now that he was gone I did so even more. I could only hope that he realised just how important he was to me as well, how much he’d taught me…

I felt myself once again being transported into the past, delving into my memory to one summer’s day, when I was weeding in the fields while Father was in the barn shearing the sheep. I had spent most of the time daydreaming about knights and minotaurs, and before I knew it, I had ventured into the woods, into ‘battle’. After I had ‘saved’ the knights from the angry minotaur, I’d begun the journey back to my land (the farm) feeling immensely satisfied, knowing that I had saved the lives of good men…

‘Hello, young man,’ a familiar voice said.

I’d frozen dead in my tracks, my fantasy destroyed like the crop after a bad storm. I’d known that voice; I’d known what I had done.

I would have rather faced a real minotaur.

‘How’s the weeding coming?’ Father said evenly, standing at the edge of the woods, arms crossed.

I hadn’t answered, knowing that it would be pointless. I’d strayed from my duties, and I had to face what was coming to me. Father hadn’t looked particularly mad, just disappointed. On the other hand, I’d felt really guilty — he was depending on me for my help, and I had let him down.

‘Come on inside,’ Father said, his voice showing no traces of anger. ‘It’s time for supper.’

Apprehensively, I had followed him back to the house; a punishment was coming, it was only a matter of time.

We’d sat down to eat a good meal of salted pork (much of our coin went into obtaining sea salt so that we could preserve our meats), carrots, and a couple of slices of hard bread. Father hadn’t spoken a word the entire time. Afterwards, he’d said it was time for bed.

I had been extremely puzzled — maybe there won’t be a punishment.

Boy, had I been wrong.

The next day, after a light breakfast, Father had informed me that I was to finish weeding the beans that I’d failed to get to the previous day, weed all of the onions, and wash all of the wool that he had sheared yesterday.

I remember vividly that my jaw had dropped. ‘But that’s more than a day’s worth of our work combined!’ I’d complained.

Father had simply nodded, unsympathetic. ‘And I suggest you get to it,’ he’d stated evenly, ‘because there won’t be any dinner until you finish.’

I remember opening my mouth to argue, but he’d interrupted, putting his finger in the air. ‘I wouldn’t suggest arguing… that’s just going to waste time.’

I’d then hung my head, and slunk off into the fields.

Undoubtedly, that was the hardest day of work I’d ever had, and probably ever would have.

It had been mid-evening before I finally finished. Tired beyond belief, I’d staggered back to the house and plopped myself in a chair at the table. Father had dinner all prepared for me, but I’d been much too tired to eat, so slumped in the chair instead.

‘Hey, wake up,’ Father had said, knocking on the table hard enough to jolt me from my slumber. ‘You need to eat, to recover your lost strength.’

‘I don’t think that’s going to do it.’

‘Eat anyway.’

I’d eaten a few bites (too tired to even notice what it was), and the next thing I knew, Father had been carrying me in his arms to my bed. I still can’t remember feeling as good as when he laid me down on my nice, soft bed that night. I’d felt him softly brushing the hair out my eyes, and then he was gone. Father’s punishment had been harsh but, looking back, quite frankly I had deserved it. I had known perfectly well how important our work was to our livelihood, and I had failed. As I’d drifted off to sleep, one thought passed through my mind…

I need to be more careful with my daydreaming — much more careful
.

I shook off the memory as best as I could and returned to my job; I was trying to fix a broken part of the fence. When I went to lift the hammer, the iron head fell from the wooden handle. It hit the ground with a small
thud
.

I sighed.
Well, perhaps I should let the chickens have a crack at fixing this thing — they might do a better job than me anyway
. I had got particularly good at taking my lack of blacksmithing skills in stride.

I had a gardening hoe with me, and was just getting ready to turn my attention back to the fields when I could hear horses trotting down the road in the distance. That sound was accompanied by the sound of merry men who had likely had a bit too much ale. I backed away from the fence, wanting to get away from the dust that the horses would kick up, which would make me cough and gag violently.

As the men drew nearer, I could see that they were not merely men — they were
knights!
Three of them! I immediately became enchanted, and I found myself wondering how many battles they had seen, how many foes they had slain. I suddenly imagined that I was riding alongside them, sharing my tales of conquest and boasting of my acts of valor on the battlefield.

I was so lost in my daydreaming that I hadn’t noticed that the knights had spotted me, and that one of them was pointing in my direction.

A cold chill paralyzed me.
What does this knight want with me?

Excitement warred with fear in my body. I had only had one other experience with a soldier. A few years ago, the house down the road had burned down. It had belonged to a very nice older lady, Agatha, who had been a close friend to my parents. Unfortunately, due to the emotional trauma surrounding my mother, I hadn’t treated Agatha very well. Yet when her house had caught fire, Father and I tried to save her life, to no avail. The next day, the king had sent a young soldier, Derrick, to investigate Agatha’s death. It turned out that she was one of the best tailors in the kingdom and she was making clothing for many of the king’s servants, and even a few for the king himself. Derrick had been a jolly, happy-go-lucky fellow. But for some reason, I didn’t get the same vibe from this knight, who was swaggering toward me, intoxicated.

The knight stood in front of me and pointed mockingly. ‘What do we have h-h-here?’ His voice was slurred and had a whining quality to it.

My earlier suspicions were now confirmed — the stench of alcohol washed over me like a tide from the Oh-Gods-Above-That’s-Nasty Ocean. It was so bad, I couldn’t believe that my curly brown hair didn’t turn white — or fall out completely.

So many things were happening at once, I was too confused to respond. The knight frowned in displeasure — then he hiccupped.

‘When I ashk you a queshton, you answer, boy.’ Apparently, completing this sentence was almost too much for him, for he staggered unsteadily on his feet before regaining some semblance of balance.

Still I didn’t answer, and I was getting more and more nervous as this conversation continued. The knight was getting more and more agitated. My heart thumped loudly against my chest.

‘Lower your eyesh to your superiorsh,’ the knight ordered.

At that moment, anger began to swell inside me. This man, knight or not, had no right to bully and humiliate me, just because I was the first peasant he had seen on the road that day.

And what exactly are you going to do about it, Aidan? Drunk or not, he’s an experienced swordsman, and you’re not
.

Well played, conscience. So, after some hesitation, I did as the knight commanded.

But the knight seemed to sense my unspoken feelings, and his eyes widened in fury. ‘You dare heshitate when I give you an order, peasant scum?’

Now my heart was trying to bash its way out of my ribcage. Shaking uncontrollably, I stared at the knight in his heavy steel armor, brandishing a gleaming, battle-worn sword — which, I had no doubt, he knew how to use. My mind frantically searched for a way out of this sticky situation.

Just do what he wants, Aidan
.

I could see the knight’s face getting redder with his fury, and I was really beginning to feel afraid that he was going to hurt me. So I did the only thing I could do —

‘Please, Mr. Knight,’ I begged, ‘please don’t hurt me.’

The knight roared with laughter. ‘That’s right, boy,’ he said gleefully — or slurred, rather, ‘beg like the peasant you are! Put your facesh on the ground and beg!’

My face burned with embarrassment, but at least it seemed like he was going to leave me alone if I did what he wanted. Slowly, I got down on my knees and lowered myself to the ground, my head hovering just a couple of inches above it.

The knight put his heavy steel boot on my head and pushed it into the dirt. ‘I said to put your facesh on the ground.’ He chuckled, clearly enjoying this show of power. I heard the other knights laughing from their horses.

I grunted in anger and frustration as the knight ground his boot into the side of my head, shoving my face further into the dirt. Truthfully, it didn’t hurt all that much — but the helplessness and humiliation hurt me all the way to my soul.

Finally, the knight removed his boot from my head.

‘Now shtay there until I leave, you filthy peasant.’

As the knight drunkenly swaggered away, the anger returned, and this time, it threatened to reach the boiling point. I couldn’t fully comprehend what had just happened to me, other than the fact that I had just been made an example out of by a bully of a knight for the amusement of his friends. That thought pierced me like a pitchfork through the chest. But I knew that open defiance would only bring more pain and humiliation, so I did exactly as I was told.

It felt like forever, but the knight finally got back on his horse, almost falling off the other side as he did so. Feeling that I had done what was ordered, I slowly stood back up and brushed myself off.

Big mistake. One of the other knights saw me, and pointed in my direction. The bully knight turned around, saw me, and dismounted his horse again, heading in my direction.

Oh, Gods. What did I do?

Worse, he was walking
much
straighter than he was the previous time, and with more purpose.

As he stood in front of me this time, he drew his sword (for some reason, I took a mental note that he was right-handed), which was almost enough to make me squeal in terror. But, as I stared at the tip that hovered just inches from my nose, I kept my lips tightly sealed, though I couldn’t stop trembling.

‘Do you not value your life, boy?’ The knight asked, and the fact that he didn’t slur his words this time wasn’t lost on me. It seemed that he was sobering up in a hurry, which wasn’t good news for me.

Again, I remained silent, and he got even angrier.

‘I suggest you get back down on the ground, plant your nose in the dirt, and remain there until I have departed. If you do not, then I
will
smile as your body lies limp, impaled, at the end of my sword.’

I shuddered as the image firmly entrenched itself in my mind — but even as I did, my blood burned even hotter in anger. Suddenly, I found myself in an internal struggle — my brain (which was screaming at me to just obey already, and get on with my life) against my heart (which was tired of the pain and humiliation, and was actually, to my chagrin, contemplating fighting back). It felt like I battled with this decision forever, though it was only a few seconds.

Unfortunately, the knight took those few seconds as another act of defiance. ‘So be it,’ he muttered, before he hit me in the face with the steel-plated glove of his left hand. I staggered before I fell on my back, clutching my face from the sharp pain which was suddenly piercing my skull. The blow opened a cut on my forehead, and I could immediately feel the blood trickling down my face. My vision became fuzzy and I was having trouble focusing on anything. The blinding sun suddenly made my head pound harder.

Roughly, the knight reached down and grabbed me by my dirty cotton shirt, hauling me to my feet. He set me down so aggressively that I almost fell back down to the ground.

‘Now…’ he growled in my face, and the overwhelming smell of alcohol made my eyes water severely. ‘You
will
do exactly as I tell you this time, or I will gut you right here. Do you understand me?’ Once again, his sword was pointed at me.

This time, blind rage completely overruled my fear. True, I hadn’t had much experience with soldiers and knights, but I believed in the stories that I had read, the tales that had been engraved into my heart.

This man is a disgrace to his own title
.

The knight had finally had enough of my insolence. Without warning, he tried to strike me with the hilt of his sword, and instinctively, I dodged the blow. I had no clue where the idea came from to dodge the attack — perhaps from avoiding the donkey’s hooves as they tried to kick me, or from dodging chickens as they attacked me when I entered their pens.

At any rate, the fact that I was no longer where I was an instant ago when the knight tried to strike me — apparently coupled with the lingering effects of the alcohol — caused the knight to stumble. If he had fallen, he would have landed where I had been laying only moments earlier, but instead he caught himself and spun around. My thoughts a blur, I snatched up the nearby gardening hoe and held it in front of me defensively.

I could hear the knight’s friends, on their horses, exchanging murmurs of surprise.

Seeing me with a weapon (such as it was) and ready to fight back, the knight’s expression was surprised at first, then turned mocking.

‘Are you in your right mind, boy?’ he asked, arrogantly sauntering toward me. ‘Fighting a knight? Do you even know what you are about to get yourself into?’

I didn’t, clearly, but I stood steadfast anyway. ‘Judging by the amount of ale you’ve apparently consumed, I’m more in my right mind than you.’