by WH Ware
Ondale reached down with his scarred hand and picked up the white feather that had caught his attention. “Not avian,” he said softly as he examined it. Then, at its base, the telltale hairs stood out. “Yes,” he smiled, “a pegasus.” He was certain this time. Once before—many years earlier—he had made a mistake misidentifying the clues and found himself face to face with a gryphon. It nearly cost him his life. The missing finger and scars on his hand and arm were a hard-earned reminder.
“Is that what we’re looking for, Father?” The lanky thirteen-year-old peeking over Ondale’s shoulder was his son, Reacher. The boy was tall for his age, nearly his father’s height, and although his body hadn’t yet begun to bulk up, his voice had already broken.
“See the fine hairs on the base?” Reacher nodded in response. “Feel them.”
The boy reached out and rubbed his fingers lightly over the hairs. “They’re coarse, like the hair on a horse’s mane.” His words were clinical with a touch of wonderment. “I thought they’d be soft.”
“Now run your finger from top to bottom along the flat part of the feather.”
The boy did so. “It’s sticky.” He paused. “No, it’s like there are barbs on it.”
“Bird feathers are smoother. Gryphon feathers are smooth too, but their coarse base hairs are like a pegasus’s without the barbs. On your life, remember that.” Ondale lifted his three- fingered hand and smiled. The boy laughed, sharing the dark, private joke. He handed the feather to his son. “Keep it for reference.”
Reacher put it in his pouch. “So we’ve found its feather. How do we find it?”
Ondale grinned. “Watch and learn.” He stepped off the trail and teased apart the tangled bushes. A trail of sorts, one that only an experienced tracker would notice, headed into the deeper part of the forest. Ondale padded quietly along the trail, Reacher close behind. The fur- covered shields hanging on their backs muffled the noise of the passing branches.
The trail led up a hill to a cavern. On seeing it, Reacher grinned, grabbed the lasso from his side, and started forward. Ondale grabbed his arm.
“What do you remember about dragons?”
“They’re dangerous; smart, with big claws and teeth; sometimes they’re fire or poison spitters. And they hoard precious gems and shiny things like shields and armor.”
“And they live in large caves with wide entrances, Reacher.” Ondale pointed at the entrance.
“What’s the problem? We’re after a pegasus, not a dragon. This is a pegasus den.” Reacher started to uncoil the rope.
“Pegasi and dragons can share dens.”
“What?” The rope hung motionless in the boy’s hand.
Ondale shrugged and pointed at the floor of the entrance. “Not just horse hooves.” Long gouges dragged through the dirt and stone into the dank darkness. Then came a crackling from deep in the cave, like bones being chewed up.
Reacher blanched and stepped back. “What now?” he asked softly.
Ondale motioned for Reacher to follow, then they made their way down the path until they could just see the cave entrance.
“We figure out which dragon’s there.”
A sound like broken armor dragging came from inside the cave. Ondale grabbed Reacher’s arm and pulled him along the trail, then pushed him into a dark crevice.
A beast’s head leaned out of the cave. Its snout was as long as Reacher’s arm. Its mouth, armed with sharp, white teeth, was partially open due to a cow’s femur dangling out one side. The dragon’s eyes widened slightly, then it sniffed the air. It took a step outside, one fat, scaly leg landing with a thump and scrape as its black talons grated against the stony ground. It exhaled as it looked around. Smoky vapor drifted from its nostrils.
They heard crackling and bone fragments shot from the dragon’s mouth as it chewed.
It bent its head to the ground, creating a light haze of dust and smoke as it snuffled. It suddenly went still, looking along the trail toward Ondale and Reacher’s hideaway. Ondale quietly slipped his shield from his back, set it in the crevice entrance, and loosened the hide covering.
The dragon came fully out of the cave and took a step toward them. Its head swayed slightly on its longish neck as it tried to pick up a scent. It took a couple more tentative steps, then leaned its head forward, looking suspiciously at the dark crevice.
Squeezed as far as he could into the recess of the crevice, Reacher observed the predator. At the shoulder it was as tall as he was; body length was one-and-a-half times his height, the tail half again. Its eyes were opalescent, as were its cheek patches and the insides of the long ears on either side of its head. The rest of its body was dark red mottled with black.
The monster took one more sniff, then, seemingly satisfied, it returned to its lair. Ondale and Reacher climbed out of hiding.
“It’s a fire-breather, isn’t it?” Reacher asked. “Young but not a yearling. All good news.”
“How can a fire-breathing dragon be good news?” Reacher said as he ran his fingers through his hair, pushing the frazzled curls out of his face.
“It’s left its mama but not full grown, and,” Ondale smiled as he finished pulling the furry hide off his shield, “we have a weapon we can use against fire-breathing dragons.” Under the hide was an iridescent shield. The boy put his hand on it. The shield was icy to the touch.
“It’s a dragon scale; impervious to fire.” Ondale pointed to the shield on Reacher’s back. “Yours too.”
Reacher pulled his shield around, undid the cover, and ran his hand reverently over the bare shield. “But why the cover?”
“Rare and precious. Bounty men’d give an arm to get one of these. Or take a life.”
“It’s very light,” Reacher said as he hefted the gleaming shield. Thinking of bounty men, he asked, “Can it withstand an axe blow?”
Ondale nodded. “But try to avoid getting axed, Son.”
The plan was simple enough: defeat the dragon; capture the pegasus; give it to the hedge witch who had hired them; get paid. Ondale had worked for the witch before, gathering other fey creatures for her magic (mystic frogs and purple fire newts being among those fey). He trusted her and her promise to treat the pegasus well until she released it.
Executing the plan was a bit more complicated. Ondale had killed several dragons in his hunting years but was among the few fey hunters who preferred not to kill them. They were rare and, except for two subspecies, they weren’t aggressive unless cornered.
“One problem, Reacher.” The boy looked at his father as they snuck toward the cave once more. “That dragon’s a black.”
“No. Blacks are aggressive. He’s red.”
“Black. Young and still changing color.”
“But they bond with their pegasi, don’t they?”
“We take his horse, he’ll come after us.”
Reacher shrugged with resignation. “So we have to kill him then?”
“We don’t; I do. You watch my back, protect me from the pegasus. Don’t hurt it. Don’t get trampled.”
“Easy for you to say.” Another thought came to Reacher. “You have killed a black before, right?”
“One. Bigger. All black. A vulnerable spot under either wing.”
They cautiously peered into the cave. It was deep but low-ceilinged. The clop of a hoof echoed from the right. Torch in hand, Reacher headed in that direction, keeping close to the cave wall. His job was to corral the pegasus while Ondale fought the dragon.
Reacher found his prey first. It was curled up on a straw nest, head resting on the ground. His father had trained him how to subdue pegasi, but those had been young and small, and they had been ensorcelled. This creature was wondrous, so white it almost glowed.
The pegasus sat up as soon as it spotted Reacher. Then it was on its feet. It was enormous. It moved toward him, hesitating, stepping forward, stopping again. Reacher spoke softly to it, encouraging it closer. Maybe this would be easier than he thought.
A deep growl and a sound like a bonfire exploded the air. The pegasus reared in fright, lashing out with its front hooves, striking Reacher’s upraised shield, driving him back several steps at a time.
The flying horse looked at the cave opening, but Reacher sidestepped and waved the torch to block its way. The fey creature drove him step by step to the other side of the cavern. It tried to take flight, but between the low roof and Reacher’s counterattacks, it stayed earthbound.
He took a quick look over his shoulder and saw Ondale swing his sword at the black dragon. The black countered, striking out with a wing, hitting the sword. The strike was numbing but Ondale held on to his weapon. The wing swung the other way; its dewclaw screeched across the front of Ondale’s shield.
The pegasus whinnied—long and scream-like—and struck out. Reacher barely got his shield up in time. The strike knocked him backward off his feet, and he rolled, heels over head, back onto his feet. The pegasus struck again. This time Reacher was ready and withstood the hit, taking a retreating step—right against Ondale’s back.
Ondale grunted and his weight disappeared. Feeling hot dragon breath on his back, Reacher dove to the ground, saw his father’s shield lying there, and grabbed it just as the dragon spewed another gout of flame. Reacher lifted the second shield as the blast covered him. A hot pain rifled through his leg. The pegasus struck the other shield a resounding blow. The dragon stepped closer, its snout inches from Reacher’s second shield. The monster inhaled for another blast. Reacher slammed the shield into its snout. It screamed in pain, reared onto two legs, and pulled its head back. The gout of flame seared the ceiling. Ash and smoke drifted from above as Reacher tried to scuttle from between the two attackers.
A howl from the maddened dragon caught his attention as it raised its wings and prepared to blast him one last time. Inhaling, its fiery eyes targeted the boy. Reacher tucked between the two shields as best he could, knowing it wouldn’t be enough. His pants were already smoking, and his leg was scorched from the previous blast.
But the flame didn’t come.
The monster grunted, gave a smoky sigh, and fell into a heap, its jaw cracking against the stone floor.
The pegasus bit at the edge of Reacher’s shield. It reared up and struck down but only one hoof hit. Then the winged creature whinnied frantically, gnashing its teeth at something behind it.
“Reacher! Get out the blindfold. I can’t hold his wings much longer!” A rope wrapped around the pegasus’s flank was loosely tangled in its wings. Another line lassoed a front leg.
“Father! You’re okay.” “Get the blasted blindfold!”
The pegasus switched its attention, snapping its teeth at Reacher, who managed to slip the hood over its head and cover its eyes. The creature quieted.
Reacher grinned at his father’s survival and their success. He grinned back at the boy as he bound the wings more securely. “You’d best put out that fire on your pant leg.”
Reacher bent down and tore the smoldering edges away. “I nearly got burnt to a crisp.”
“Yes. But a good first effort. I’d never have thought to smack him on the nose. Gave me a chance to get under his wing.”
Ondale looked pensive. “We’re done here for the moment. Why don’t you go look, see what treasure you can find. Even young dragons can have hoards.” Eyes sparkling, Reacher took a freshly lit torch and headed off into the deepest part of the cavern to see what he might be rewarded with.
Ondale hobbled the pegasus, stroked it gently, and whispered calming words in its ear. After a few minutes he went over to the dragon and lifted its wing. Three shallow gashes surrounded his blade; three times he’d missed the mark. It took some effort but he was finally able to pull his blade free. He sat down, trembling, remembering the sight of his son tucked inside the two shields like a clam about to be smoked.
“Look what I found.”
Ondale looked up to see his son, eyes gleaming and a grin as wide as his face, holding two handfuls of silver coins. Over his shoulder was a fine mesh mail shirt.
“You found yourself a nice treasure,” he said, smiling back at his son.
WH Ware has been published in Canadian Voices: An Anthology of Prose and Poetry by Emerging Canadian Writers. He worked as a reporter for newspapers in Thunder Bay, Ontario, as an editor of a trade magazine, as editor of an in-house newspaper for an Ontario energy supplier, and operated his own freelance writing business for about eight years.