The Dragon-Slayer is Given Honor and Reward

The Never Ending Quest - Episode 50184

After the roar of the assembly died down, King Emry called forth the Chanticleer. The wily man appeared on a stage just below the King's dais. And as befitted a performance before the Royal Family, the Chanticleer was royally dressed. Gone was the simple, patch-worked cloak and the dusty, worn boots. Now he wore a cape of shimmering blue over a tunic embroidered with gold thread. Shoes of soft and supple leather cushioned his feet. His unruly head of hair had been washed and combed, styled after the manner of fashion at the court of Caemlyn. He looked quite different from the rascally homeless troubadour that had fallen into Fred's company at the mountain fort of Khypre. Fred smiled with amusement at him, it was clear that the Chanticleer was having the time of his life.

The Chanticleer smiled back at Fred and gave him a slight nod, and then he began his epic ballad. It was magnificent, as he himself would readily tell you. It spoke of journeys and dire dangers. Of magical horrors and desperate battles. Of brave comrades and insidious foes. And finally, of victory.

The Chanticleer's rich voice played the words like a musical instrument, falling and rising like the wind, sometimes booming like thunder, sometimes only a whisper, but always weaving the story with care and skill and passion. Images clear and vivid formed almost magically in the mind's eye of all those who listened to him. Their hearts raced as he described the battle with the Dragon. Fear and wonder filled their thoughts as he told them of the Orcs and the dragon's treasure hoard beneath the roots of the terrible Goth. Their blood ran cold when he recounted the horrors of the Green Flame. And their eyes grew wet with tears when he sang of the death of Astra.

And if the story he told was not completely accurate, if he left out certain facts and details, if he blurred the truth here and there, the Chanticleer thought nothing of it. He was there to tell a story, the Greatest story, the Story of the Dragon-Slayer. And when he was done not a single soul in that grand hall stirred but felt moved by the glorious tale of woe and wonder.

"My people," King Emry spoke up when the Chanticleer had finished. "That is the Tale of the Dragon-Slayer. And truly it is a magical tale... but what else could we expect. Dragons are an ancient breed, steeped in dark magic. To hunt the Dragon is to hunt madness, and to risk body and soul. What wonder then that Frederigo's journey led him from the peaks of the Shreken to the depths of the Goth. What wonder that he left us arrayed in the iron mail of a valiant knight and returned to us donned in the famed dragon plate lost long ago, and wielding a sword crafted for knights a thousand years dead. What wonder that his path crossed with those of evil creatures out of distant legend and unholy nightmares from beyond the outer darkness. What wonder indeed."

The King paused a moment and gazed down at Fred. And Fred could see that the King truly did wonder about such things. Just as Fred did. And for the first time Fred felt hope. Hope that his fears would not be dismissed. Hope that the danger he felt all around him would not go unchallenged.

"But from that perilous journey Lord Frederigo has returned," the King continued, "and the evil of the Dragon has been ended. The Tale is over and we can all go back to our lives with the sure knowledge that peace has been restored." Fred gaped up at the King and his heart fell within his breast. Surely King Emry could not mean such a thing. The Dragon was dead, and more than just one dragon, but there were still others waiting in the darkness. And more than just dragons.

"The son of D'Honaire shall be richly reward for his hardship and bravery," King Emry proudly proclaimed, "and honored above other men." And then the King told Fred to turn about and receive his due honor. Fred, crestfallen though he was, did as he was told and saw a line of people waiting to approach him. Who these people were he did not know. Some he thought he recognized but for the most part they were strangers to him.

And then the procession filed slowly toward him, one person at a time ascending to the dais where Fred stood. Each person gave their name, loudly so that all could hear. Each person shared the pain that had been done them by the Dragon and its evil.

Fred's heart caught in his throat. The Dragon had visited much anguish upon the people of Allaria, and especially those of the southern districts closest to the shadows of the Shreken. Many people had disappeared or died in flame. But many more had survived, forced to live their lives bereft of those they loved. These then were the men and women who now came to bend their knee at Fred's feet. The survivors. Those that, more than anyone else, owed Fred a debt of thanks. For by killing the evil beast he had brought the vengeance of these long suffering people down upon the bane that had shattered their simple, innocent lives.

Long was that line and many were the names given to Fred of the dead and the disappeared. Some barely held back tears as they spoke of their loved ones. Others spoke the names with grim pride. All of them looked upon Fred with a deep felt gratitude.

Among them was the elder of the village of Durth, Benchley by name. Fred had passed through that village on his quest journey, his last stop before reaching the Dragon's caves. He recalled how it was little more than a spot on the rugged, mountainous landscape; a muddy spot with little in the way of beauty or charm. But even so, the place filled Fred's memory with warmth. It was the last place Fred had been before the nightmare of the Dragon had descended upon him.

Farmers, miners, tradesmen, mothers, fathers, children; all had suffered and all had come to honor the Dragon-Slayer. There was an old trapper named Alfredo. A grieving young lass named Beatrice and her stoop-shouldered father Crowley. A tired merchant called Wormley.

Damian Thatcher, lord of Nugget, also bowed down to Fred, as well as other minor nobles who ruled the fiefs of the southern duchies.

And then a young man stepped up and bent to his knee and with upraised face he said, "My name is Zephyros Westwing. I come from the Vale." Fred nodded, waiting for the man to name his lost one. "The Dragon took my only brother from me. His name was Velus." The name caught Fred like a blow to the gut.

Velus. How Fred hated that name. For it was the name of the Dragon. The name the monster had given itself when it had come upon Fred in the form of a tiny dog.

But here was Velus' brother. The true Velus. And Fred felt anger anew at the monster now dead. Not only had the Dragon taken away Velus' life but it had defiled his name.

Zephyros stood, but when he turned to move away Fred stopped him and placed his hand on the man's shoulder. Gazing squarely in his eyes Fred said with a profound sincerity, "Your brother has been avenged."

When the procession was finally come to an end, the King beckoned for Fred to come up to the throne. King Emry grasped Fred by the shoulders and turned him round for all to see. And then he said, "What price for freedom from the Dragon, my subjects? What price for lives saved? What treasure do I have that is fitting for one such as Lord Frederigo?" He paused as attendants stepped up to them. One held in his arms a majestic cloak, lined with the fur of dire wolves, emblazoned with the crest of the House D'Honaire, and set with sparkling gems and golden clasps. Another had brought a richly decorated scabbard, verily fit for a prince of the first rank. And the last had with him a most marvelous shield, forged of cold iron hammered seven times over, banded about in precious gold and red steel, and edged with black diorite.

The King had the attendants display the treasures for everyone in court to see and then he said, "We had these gifts set aside for you, Lord Frederigo, a small token of our appreciation. And indeed they are but paltry things when compared with the treasures you have brought back from out of the shadows. For what gifts can my Kingdom bestow that would match the priceless heirlooms you now wield as tokens of your victory? You have found the fabled Flamebane Armor, lost over seven centuries ago when Rimbold slew the last of the Great Wyrms. And at your side is sheathed an ancient, imperishable sword crafted by the Great Empire for their dreaded Cerulean Guard who ruled the world a thousand years gone now. But please, take my meager gifts, for my sake if not for your own."

Fred bowed low, humbled, for the King's gifts were in no way mean or paltry. And too, the love and honor he was being given by the King and by the people was so great he was nearly overcome by it all. Only now did he truly appreciate what the death of the Dragon of the Southern Caves meant to the people of Allaria. For all the woe that Fred had suffered, at this moment he knew it had been worth it. For all the woe Fred feared that he would soon come to suffer, at this moment he knew he would pay that price again and again. This was his land, his people, his Kingdom. He had sworn to serve her whatever the cost. And even if tomorrow he was swallowed up by a horde of demons, he knew that he had served her well.

"And there is one more thing I would grant you for your service to my realm," the King continued, "as was promised when you set out on your quest. Lands to rule as your own. Within my royal domains I hold the Province of North Umbria. Once it was ruled by Duke Samanthus, the Dragon-Hunter. It is only fitting then that I set aside a portion of that domain as a prize for my Dragon-Slayer, for you to rule in my name. Its bounty shall be yours, her people under your care and protection. From this day forward you shall add the title and office of the Count of Inverness to your name. The city of Croix shall be your capitol."

Fred gazed at the King and then fell to one knee. His breast heaved with emotion he could not give voice to. King Emry smiled upon him.

"And now," the King addressed all those assembled in his great hall, "let the bells ring loud and long and the Faire of Celebration begin at last. The Dragon is dead. The Quest is over. The Dragon-Slayer has returned to us and our hearts are filled with joy!"

  1. And so it was...

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WolfRun

4/27/2005 7:47:05 PM

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