‘Comes on, let's go,’ said Zyra, retrieving her two knives. ‘Before somes other gang decides ta try anythin’.’
‘Hangs on.’ Tark stopped by the gang leader's body. ‘He mights have somethin’ worths takin’.’ He crouched down and rifled through the man's wretched pockets. He was disappointed to find nothing of value. Determined not the leave empty-handed, he removed the gang leader's mirrored sunglasses. The small eyes beneath were wide open, revealing the pink irises and tiny pupils.
‘Guess ya won't be needin’ these.’ Tark smirked, tucking the sunglasses into his belt.
‘Moves it!’ said Zyra, walking off as if ready to leave him behind.
Tark straightened up and followed her.
They weren't bothered any further, and it wasn't long before they reached the Crossroads. They stood back to back in the centre, looking in opposite directions. They each could see their destinations in the distance.
‘See ya,’ said Zyra, heading off in the direction of the Hill — an Eden of mansions and gardens and walls, rising up out of the surrounding devastation.
Tark nodded. ‘Times to slays me a dragon.’ He headed towards the Forest — a seeming haven of greenery on the edge of the City.
6: Dragon Slaying
Tark peered through the undergrowth at the cave. All seemed peaceful and quiet. But appearances could be deceptive, especially in the Forest.
Tark had never taken on a dragon before. He'd never even seen one. He was just a common thiever and dragons were well out of his league. No one below a knight, second class, would attempt such an encounter. And yet, here he was.
‘Oi!’ Tark shouted as he approached the cave. ‘Dragon! Ya in there?’
Silence.
‘Bring outs yar gold. I is ’ere ta takes it from ya.’
A deep rumble came from the cave. Suddenly Tark wasn't so sure about what he was doing. A wisp of grey smoke escaped from the mouth of the cave. Tark quickly drew his cloak up around himself. A small burst of flame shot from the mouth of the cave, right at him. Tattered though it was, his cloak had enough power to protect him from the heat.
As Tark peered out from behind the folds of material, the dragon emerged. It was a lot smaller than he had expected. Tark had imagined a gargantuan beast with smouldering eyes, smoking nostrils and enormous bursts of fire spewing from its mouth.
But this dragon was only about twice Tark's size, and Tark was not all that tall. Its eyes were round and blue; its scales, azure and shimmering; its snout, short and somewhat squishy-looking. It was hardly what he would call fierce. ‘Cute’ seemed a more apt descriptor.
‘Wot kind of a dragon is ya?’ asked a puzzled Tark, lowering his cloak.
‘What kind of a knight are you?’ retorted the dragon, slowly shuffling along towards Tark.
‘I ain't no knight. I is a thiever.’ Tark puffed out his chest proudly.
‘Lords of Fire preserve us,’ sighed the dragon, rolling his eyes and coming to a halt three arms-lengths from Tark. ‘What has our little forest realm come to, when a common cutpurse with delusions of grandeur comes to steal from a mighty dragon?’
‘Yeah well,’ said Tark, hand taking hold of the sword's hilt under his cloak. ‘Ya don't looks too mighty from where I is standin’.’
‘You're not standing, you're cowering,’ said the dragon. ‘There is a difference.’
‘Where's yar bag o’ gold?’ demanded Tark, straightening and trying to stand taller.
‘Where do you think it is, you moron? It's in my cave.’
The dragon shook its head and swung back onto its hind legs. It suddenly looked a lot larger. It raised one front paw and flexed it. Three razor-sharp talons popped out like catclaws. The dragon grinned widely, revealing a double row of yellowed, pointy teeth.
‘I'm bored now,’ the beast growled.
Tark flung back his cloak to reveal the sheathed sword.
‘Oh lookie,’ taunted the dragon. ‘The cowering little cutpurse has a pointy stick. Didn't your mother warn you about playing with sharp objects? You could quite easily find yourself impaled on one, if you're not careful.’
‘Hangs on just a tick,’ said Tark, taking the sunglasses from his belt. He put them over his eyes and smiled. ‘Much betta.’
‘You're really rather annoying,’ said the dragon, taking a menacing step towards Tark. ‘I think I shall enjoy devouring you.’
Tark drew the sword. Dazzling light erupted from the blade. With the sunglasses protecting his eyes Tark could concentrate on holding the sword. But the sword o’ light had a mind of its own.
‘Hold on a moment,’ said the dragon, sounding concerned for the first time. ‘You're not meant to have one of them. They're — ’
But the blade, with Tark in tow, had found its target, embedding itself deep in the dragon's chest. Tark looked up at the dragon's surprised eyes and then down at the sword hilt protruding from the beast's body. An intense light spilled out from beneath the scales, as the blazing heat spread through the dragon's body.
‘Oh bother!’ the dragon managed to say, its voice tinged with a sad resignation, as it was engulfed in blistering radiance.
The dragon burned away from the inside till only a few charred scales remained.
‘Woah!’ breathed Tark, still holding on to the sword.
He looked down at what remained of the dragon and gave the charred scales a good kick.
‘Now who's cowerin’, ya snot-rag.’
Tark then shifted his attention to the sword. The encounter with the dragon seemed to have depleted its power. Its previous glory had diminished to a faint glow. Tark sheathed the blade, assuming it needed time to recharge.
‘Rights,’ he said. ‘Now for the bag o’ gold.’
Tark marched over to the cave, entered the darkness and promptly tripped over the first stalagmite he came across. Picking himself up, he drew the sword o’ light. The glow was faint, but it was enough for Tark to be able to navigate through the cave — until, that is, he came to a cul-de-sac. The sword's light waned.
‘Comes on,’ coaxed Tark, looking around wondering where the bag o’ gold would be. ‘Gimme more light.’
Instead of granting Tark's wish, the sword o’ light went out.
‘Damn!’
Tark returned the sword to its scabbard and looked up to find that he could still see — just. Where was the light coming from? He backtracked a little. Flickering light seemed to be coming from a rock wall to the side of the cul-de-sac.
Tark tripped over another stalagmite in his hurry to get to the source of the light. He stumbled forward into the wall. Throwing up his arms to protect himself from the impact, he instead stumbled right through it. An amazing sight greeted him when he regained his footing.
He had somehow entered an enormous stone chamber lit with burning torches held in ornate sconces. The stony ground was covered in luxurious rugs and animal skins; the walls were hung with exquisite, albeit mismatched, tapestries; a crystal chandelier with dozens of candles hung amongst the stalactites from the centre of the rock ceiling; and two massive wooden bookcases were filled to overflowing with leather-bound manuscripts. Two large floral-patterned armchairs with footrests sat in front of a roaring fire, a low table between them boasted a bone china tea set.
But Tark's eyes focused on only one thing — the bag o’ gold. It rested on a stone pedestal in the centre of the chamber. Grinning from ear to ear, he rushed forward and grabbed the bag, almost toppling over with the weight. It was only then that he considered the rest of the chamber, and what other valuables it might contain. His eyes roamed greedily, his mind ticking over with the possibilities.
