Chapter 19
LITTLE DRAGON SASSITUDE, SILLY STONES—A RESOUNDING VICTORY INDEED
“Who initiates a duel at such an ungodly hour of seven in the morning? And without introducing himself either?” Millie launched off the bed and bustled to the window for a better look, letter opener in hand. “Talk about incredibly rude, and that coming from a pirate aspirant.”
As if Sir Eustace had heard her complaint, he announced, “Sir Delray Berylson of Shardspire.”
“That’s the capital of Leighton,” she spat. “Of course anyone from Leighton wouldn’t have the decency to wait until at least ten o’clock so we would all be up, watered, and fed.”
“Who cares?” Dirk was a blue cyclone in the center of the bedroom. “I finally have my first Hero to defeat!”
“No.” Bradley seized the dragon’s tail tuft and yanked him out of orbit. When he had Dirk’s attention, he signed, “They take one look at you, and they’ll know what you are.”
“And whose fault is that? Someone didn’t figure out a way around the rice paper spells!”
“What’s this now?” Millie leaned out over the sill to get a better look. “There’s someone with the Hero.”
Bradley and Dirk hustled over to join her, the former grabbing the tail (yet again) of the latter and tossing him back into the center of the room where he couldn’t be seen from the window.
Forgetting he was at war with the princess, Bradley shouldered into the tight windowsill beside her and leaned down to get a look for himself.
And the aspiring pirate, who momentarily forgot she was at war with the apprentice, guided his sight with an obliging finger. “There.”
Far below, two men were checking in at the desk Sir Eustace had erected a small distance away from his tent. The ministry official had also changed back into his three-piece suit and sat with a straight spine upon his stool.
One man was clearly the Hero, dressed in shiny plate armor with a red horsehair plume sticking out of his helmet.
Beside him was a man prepared for the desert with loose, dark clothes, a shemagh covering his head and face, and supple boots.
He bore the weight of a pack nearly as large as Sir Eustace’s had been, probably stuffed to the gills with all the items necessary for the crossing for him and the Hero.
Bradley touched her shoulder. “A squire or valet?” he signed.
Millie nodded. “Could be. And clearly more intelligent than this idiot, armored as he is in full plate in the desert. No doubt he’s already cooking like a crab in its shell dressed like that.
But a clever squire could coach him through the fight .
. .” She leaned forward suddenly, squinting. “Ha! Would you look at that. Dirk—”
She twisted around in an attempt to discuss strategy with the little dragon only to collide into the apprentice’s chest. Suddenly her entire world was brown homespun, the scent of aftershave, and muscle. All at once, her blood pounded in her ears and her breath stole from her lungs.
Panicked, she shot out a hand and twisted his nipple. The apprentice yelped and backed up a step, and, the moment she was free, Millie’s pulse returned to normal. He should be thankful she hadn’t pricked his ribs with the letter opener.
She ignored the sorcerer apprentice’s scathing look and the effect he’d momentarily had on her pulse and flicked the tails of her headscarf over her shoulder.
Blasted things kept layering against her neck and trapping heat there.
“Now, as I was about to say: Master Dirk, I believe restraint and caution is—”
“Not you, too!” Dirk flung up his claws, mane flaring. “I still have the amplio spell, remember?”
Millie popped an eyebrow at the little dragon’s sassitude and perched her hands on her recently acquired leather belt. “From what I understand, that will only amplify your size. You’ll just look like a big luck dragon—which seems to be the biggest problem, though I still don’t know why.”
Bradley and Dirk refused to look at each other, and no one chose to inform her. Again.
“So how do we color your scales and give you wings like last time?” she pressed.
Dirk skewered Bradley with a look.
“I wasn’t the one who destroyed the rice paper,” the sorcerer apprentice shot back.
“Does it have to be rice paper?” Millie asked.
The princess had asked the exact question Bradley had hoped would never cross her mind. Apparently her head wasn’t full of cotton and air after all. “No,” he admitted through gritted teeth.
“Jubilations!” Dirk whooped.
“I’m waiting,” the Hero shouted. “Are you Dirk the Dangerous or Dirk the Lazy Bones?”
The luck dragon’s feathered mane fluffed out like he’d been struck by lightning. “What did he just call me?”
Millie fled to the bedroom doorway and blocked it with her arms. “A moment of patience, if you please, Master Dirk. I believe this Hero is more an amateur than we think. Just look at his armor.”
He gave her an impertinent snap of his teeth. “You wouldn’t let me, remember?”
“It’s plate armor,” Bradley informed him.
“So he’s strong?” Dirk snapped his claws. “He’ll be slow in the sand!”
“It’s shiny, brand-new plate armor,” Millie corrected.
“Not a scratch on it. So it’s not broken in with experience.
No knight worth his blade would go up against a dragon in untested armor.
And did you see the badge on the other man’s clothes?
Its insignia doesn’t match the one on the chest plate.
He’s a hired desert guide, not a squire or valet.
This Hero is out on his own with no support from his home court, not even a servant. Thus, an amateur.”
Bradley’s scowl evaporated, impressed.
“So what do we do?” Dirk whined.
“An amateur like that is either full of himself or has read one too many fairy tales and believes he will triumph simply because he’s ‘doing the right thing.’ Which he obviously is not, because I don’t want to be rescued.
So we save your spells for when they’ll really matter and call the bluff on his confidence. ”
“How?” The sorcerer apprentice crossed his arms over his chest to mask the curiosity in his voice. What scheme was she brewing in that head of hers?
“The silly stones,” she revealed with a devious grin. “Remember yesterday, Master Dirk, when you said they could make all sorts of sounds and effects? Let’s test this Hero’s mettle and see if he is worth the honor of your presence. Or scare the crap out of him, either way.”
The luck dragon rubbed his paws together. “I’m listening.”
Over the next few minutes, Dirk, Bradley, and Millie each took up their positions along the staircase as the knight continued to shout his insults. There was a slight tremor in his voice that he hid well beneath his bravado, but the little dragon sensed it nonetheless.
Dirk suspected Millie was right—an amateur.
And probably a younger son wishing to prove himself to his older brothers.
Dirk the Dangerous wasn’t a Great Red like Morgrim the Menacing, relatively unheard of and with a minimal Range of Terror.
This Hero was hedging his bets that Dirk was just as inexperienced as he was (which was an entirely accurate assumption on the Hero’s part).
“Come out and fight me, Dragon!” The Hero had taken to brandishing his sword now, which was just as equally shiny and new as the rest of his armor. “Or are you a wussy little worm, hiding away in there like—”
The tower shook as a thunderous roar echoed across the sands.
Dust rained from the mortar, feathers and crust from the eaves of the cone-shaped roof, and the stones seemed to vibrate.
The roar grew in intensity, compounding like an avalanche, until the sand at the base of the tower rippled away in fright.
The Hero screamed and bolted. He high-stepped across the sands like a silver stork, arms pumping, red horsetail plume flowing straight out behind him.
In his fright, he’d dropped his sword, and when the desert guide bent to retrieve it, Sir Eustace’s voice rang out, “What has been abandoned by the Hero belongs to the Dragon. Leave that sword where it lies!”
The guide flung the ministry official a foul look but obeyed and tromped after the Hero, who was still screaming and presently cresting the second dune in his escape towards Leighton.
Inside the tower, the sorcerer apprentice, the princess-turning-pirate, and the luck dragon abandoned their positions along the spiraling staircase to regroup in the kitchen to celebrate.
“That’s not how I envisioned defeating my first knight,” Dirk admitted, “but it still counts, right?”
Millie held up her index finger on her left hand and made a fist with her right. “It counts on my scoreboard. One-zero, Master Dirk!”
Dirk zoomed around Bradley’s shoulders and swirled under Millie’s arms. His celebratory swirling ceased when he realized, “Wait! I have a sword to collect.”
Bradley caught the little dragon by the tail yet again before he could slither out the kitchen window.
“Ack! Leggo! I earned that sword.” Dirk squirmed and kicked at the hand with his rear feet.
The sorcerer apprentice barked, “Wait,” then signed, “Wait until the Hero and guide are truly out of sight, then go get your sword. You still look like you, remember?”
“Oh.” The luck dragon’s fluffy mane and tail settled back into place, the navy color bleeding from his scales until they were a radiant cerulean once again. “Well that’s alright, I guess. Shall we have a spot of breakfast in the meantime, then?”