“RAAAWRRR,” Amantius, as Durkan the Flamefang, roared. He stomped into the crowd’s view, waving his arms and curling his claws. “Thought you could escape me, did you? You forget that I am a dragon! Not only can I fly, but I can see the smallest shrew from miles away!”
Myria released an ear-piercing screech while Fervalor jumped between the dragon and the princess. Durkan looked confused by the hero’s actions, or at least as confused as Amantius could make the dragon look from behind a mask, before laughing at Fervalor’s attempt at chivalry.
“And who is your friend, Princess?” Durkan said as he and Fervalor circled one another.
“My name is Fervalor, I have come from a faraway land, seeking justice and…”
“Oh shut up!” Durkan snapped. “I do not care who you are or where you are from. If you are an Elfling and in my lands, you are an invader and only worthy of death.”
Offstage the Crimson Quintet began playing an intense number, heavy with percussion instruments that rumbled the floorboards of the stage. With a roar Durkan charged, barreling into Fervalor, sending both tumbling. They rolled around the stage for a few moments, Ulam hacking at Amantius with his wooden sword, while Amantius swatted Ulam’s arms and legs. Within moments the fight turned into a wrestling match, both maneuvering for better positioning. Eventually, they came to a stop, both grappling each other into an awkward stalemate. Amantius struggled to hold back laughter, the play-fight reminiscent of their childhood together in Accaria. Haven’t done this in a while. Probably a good thing, he’s still bigger and stronger than I am.
“Who is supposed to win?” Ulam whispered.
Amantius shrugged. “You, I guess. After all, I’m the villain.”
With a free hand, Fervalor thumped Durkan on the head, sending the dragon sprawling to the floor in defeat. The victor then retrieved his wooden sword from nearby, which had been dislodged from his hand at some point during combat, and then returned to his foe’s side.
“You have beaten me!” Durkan declared loud enough for even those in the back row to hear. Amantius was surprised he could project his voice so well in between the gasps for air. “Go ahead, claim your prize. Take the head of the last of the Flamefangs. It is not as though I have anything left in this world.”
“Very well,” Fervalor replied, raising his sword high. “Tell me, before I slay you, why did you not use your dragon breath against me? You would have killed me easily, for fire is my biggest weakness.”
That’s appropriate, Amantius thought. He remembered how Ulam developed a fear of fire after almost dying in a burning home. I wonder if that’s part of the story or if Ulam just put a little of himself into the character?
Durkan pointed with a claw at Princess Myria, who was standing far away from them. She had stepped aside during the wrestling match so she would not fall victim to a rogue fist or sword blow, although Amantius found the prospect of accidentally killing the princess quite humorous. How would the show proceed from here if we killed her? I have to remember that for the next performance!
“Me? Why?” Myria said as she approached him.
“Because you showed compassion when I had a broken wing, healing it out of the goodness of your heart. I was afraid you may be caught in the blast, so I held back, even though I knew that was my best chance for victory. I have learned that not every Elfling deserves to die, least of all you, Princess Myria. Perhaps I have become too enveloped with vengeance, to watch your whole kingdom burn to the ground, to see the good in the world.” Amantius had to take a deep breath, laying on his back and shouting upward required more effort than he imagined, especially while wearing the dragon mask. “I have lost; my only request is to give me a quick death, though I know I do not deserve it.”
“You fought well, and with honor, Durkan the Flamefang. I accept your request,” Fervalor said as he raised his sword high, poised to strike.
“Wait, stay your hand!” Myria shouted, causing a collective gasp to sweep across the audience.
“My lady?”
“I will not have him executed,” Myria proclaimed, creating puzzlement across Fervalor’s face. “I will not be like my ancestors, who killed your entire clan. If you were willing to put aside past transgressions by sparing us from your breath of fire, then I shall do the same. But you must promise me that you will leave these lands, never to return. I have heard rumors of other dragon clans in faraway regions, perhaps one will accept you?”
Durkan stood and brushed the dust off his scales. “You would show me mercy? But why? After all I have done, after everyone I have killed?”
Princess Myria smiled and rested a hand on the dragon’s shoulder. “Because I have learned that not every dragon deserves to die. Goodbye, Durkan the Flamefang!”
“Farewell Princess Myria, I shall never forget you.” Durkan roared one more time and then exited stage left, leaving only the princess and hero standing in the forest together. Amantius continued to roar once he was out of sight, taking off the hood and mask and cupping his hands to propel his voice. He was ecstatic to remove the ensemble once again, to let his midnight black mane air out, and to feel the cooling night air on his skin. Looks like that’s it for Durkan, thank the Gods. I must have lost half my weight in sweat.
“We must be going, my lady,” Fervalor said, “the palace is still many miles away, and there are more dangers in these woods than dragons.”
Myria nodded. “Very well, let us go.”
Fervalor exited stage right, leaving only the princess in the scene. Nilawen walked to the stage’s apron, looking at the crowd. Behind Amantius the Crimson
