We Fight Dragons (Volume 1, Chapter 15) 'Summer term'
As Summer approached so too did the highlight of the annual calendar, at least as far as the boys were concerned. ‘St. Georgius Day’ was a harvest festival that included combat sports and athletic contests. Dad and Mum had to keep a careful eye on Jam so he didn’t feel tempted to use his powers.
Jam did well in the long-distance and short-distance races around the fields, and was only just beaten by Zach.
Tobes won the padded stick-fighting contests that Mr Dawson umpired, and Jam came third. Mr Dawson was so proud of his son’s win that he went around town boasting about Tobes for weeks.
Oli won the Harvest Art Show award for the best-junior-artist, submitting a set of ink sketches of draconic looking monsters. When asked where he got the inspiration, he said that each one represented one of the lads who had attacked his friends. Jam thought he recognised which one was supposed to be Niles, because it was bigger and angrier, but the sketches paled in comparison to an actual Dragon. Despite winning the contest Oli declared that he didn’t like the sketches because they were too raw and unfinished, but Jam didn’t agree and he thought they were awesome.
Rollo wrote his friends letters from his new home in some town they had never heard of before. The boy’s parents badgered each of them into writing letters back, no matter how brief they were, because it was important for them all to stay in touch. Although the Wilson’s had settled into their new community, they had not ruled out returning to Blacken Green if things stayed quiet.
Mels also wrote letters addressed to the Wood family. Jam was disappointed that mostly they were about things that girls were into. Like the time that she and Zar went to a concert for some singer he didn’t know about, or the time that she learned how to do the moves for a new dance that was popular, which she and Zar uploaded under a fake account for a fictional dance group.
Mum cajoled Jam into writing back to Mels, and he would occasionally write short adventure stories which Mum included in the mail. He wrote about what he got up to around town and at school. He knew not to write about Knightly things, because he could not be sure who else would read the letters. He was pretty sure that Mels wouldn’t be interested in interested BMX riding, so he was surprised when she wrote back asking if he had plans to race competitively. He said he was thinking about it.
As Summer reached its end, so did the school year, and the boys looked forward to the holidays. Tobes and Zach were going on a combined family holiday to the seaside and would be gone for a while. Their parents also had plans to drop in and visit Rollo’s family while they were away, which told Jam that the Wilson’s must have moved near the sea.
Jam and Oli made a pact to build a bonfire from old tree stumps, to light when the others got back, and also to build ramps out of clay for jumping their bikes over the creek. Because Mr Dawson would be travelling it meant that Shirate lessons were on-hold, so instead Jam and Oli would practice wth a pair of padded sparing sticks they had been allowed to borrow. The holidays were going to be busy.
Mr Kirk sent out all the school reports, and Jam learned what he sort of already knew, that he had passed all his subjects. He had placed third in the entire year for Writing, just behind Emily and Zach who were first and second. Mum reminded him that if he practiced more, then he could do even better next time.
Jam could hardly wait for the next year to start!
Somewhere far away, a cloaked and hooded man strode purposefully through concrete corridors, buried deep beneath a snow-capped mountain fortress. Beneath the robe, the man wore modern chainmail, and the shiny metal rings chimed with every step.
He walked through dark stone-hewed corridors, using an electric lantern to light the way, arriving at a mammoth steel door secured with a biometric palm reader.
In his thoughts, the man marvelled at how the winter had been so deep and fierce, yet luck had brought them a magnificent catch. A Dragon! A young Dragon had carelessly blundered into their territory.
The man belong to the ‘Torquar’, sometimes known as the ‘Order of Logos’. They had wanted the Dragon, and although it had cost several lives they managed to capture it.
A pale, scarred, and wiry arm emerged from the folded sleeves of the robe, and pressed its hand firmly on the palm reader.
The massive steel door swung inward, slowing scraping the concrete raw with a rasping sound. The smell of burning sparks filled the air.
The man eyes were immediately drawn to the Dragon, bound against a stone wall by iron chains that were fed a continuous electric current.
Brother Crozia was interrogating the Dragon, by varying the amount of current that went through the chains, recording every syllable that escaped the beasts pained lips.
If Dragons could whimper, this one would be begging.
‘Brother Crozia, what have we learned so far? Where is it from? Why did it come here? Where is its nest?’
The man called Brother Crozia looked annoyed by the distraction from his work. ‘All good questions, Marshal. I think it’s best if you hear the answers from the beast itself.’ He turned towards the captured Dragon and spat the command, ‘Beast! Tell him what you just told me.’
The Dragon sighed and seethed at the same time. Its mouth was caged, but although it was torturous, it could still speak. ‘There are Knights, fair Marshal. And a Maiden. Several families…’
‘Where!’ the Marshall demanded, immediately interested in the facts.
‘Freedom first, dear Marshal… then information...’
‘No, you vile slave of darkness! You’re lucky that the only thing I hate more than a Dragon, is a fallen Knight. Tell me, and I may suffer your foul existence to continue.’
The Dragon thrashed, but Brother Crozia increased the electric current through its chains until it was too tired to continue, and it relented. It told them what they wanted to know.
‘Blacken Green.’ The Dragon cursed, furious at being forced to speak the name of the place it had been banished from.
‘Brother Crozius, I know this place from the historical records, but I had no idea that it might still be infested with Knights.’ The Marshall turned to the Dragon again, ‘You should be rewarded, serpent… but… you won’t be. Destroy it, Brother Crozia.’
The Dragon thrashed in alarm.
‘But Marshal!’ implored Brother Crozius, ‘It will grow in power if we just let it. It will be of great use to us later, if we don’t kill it right away.’
The Dragon writhed in dismay, knowing that it was powerless to effect the outcome, while the Marshal considered its fate.
‘Very well, Brother Crozia. Although it pains me to say so, let it live until we need it.’
‘By your command,’ said Brother Crozia, bowing low to ingratiate himself with the Marshal.
‘I will summon the Order. There are Knights to deal with. We go to war!’
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