for Barancoire, for help_japan
Hunting dragons
by Allie
The great white charger trotted into the village, wearing a knight on his back, armoured.
The village had mostly stopped smoking, but the smell hung in the air, a pall.
A curly-haired peasant, dark-haired, ragged clothed, was standing up shaking out a grotty blanket. He folded it and a couple of supplies.
Hutch pulled up his mount between two levelled houses, not far from the man, who had apparently been sleeping in the middle of the dirt road.
He pulled off his helmet, letting his hair loose and the air reach his face for the first time in what felt like forever. "Are you a survivor?" he called to the peasant.
The peasant looked over, and looked him up and down without much enthusiasm. "If you wanted to slay the dragon and save the village, you're a little late."
"Are you the only survivor?" Hutch eased his horse forward a couple of more steps and stopped before the man. His horse, Lance, shook his head once and gave a low nicker.
"No." The peasant sighed. "I'm not from here. No one survived. I checked."
"You're not—" Hutch blinked. "Where are you from?"
"Couple villages back." He jerked a thumb. "I'm trailing the dragon. Looking for my own revenge." He spoke without emotion, and turned away, carrying his bedroll like a man who expected to walk for a long way.
"You? You don't even have a sword." He eased Lance forward again, in keeping with the peasant's slow pace.
"What good's a sword against a dragon?" The man didn't even bother to look at him this time.
"As I am here now, there is no need," said Hutch. "It's my duty to kill it. You needn't try."
He had been passing and heard the tales and started after the beast. He'd been following its trail of wrecked villages, burned fields, and slaughtered cattle for three days now.
The survivors he'd met had been less than encouraging: a particularly large and particularly ravenous dragon. "Like the devil himself," one farmer had said, the poor man having lost his crops and his home. Hutch didn't have much money on him, as he'd been journeying far too long, but he'd given some to the man. Seeing the gratitude of the desperately dirt-poor family had made him feel terrible, and more determined than ever to kill the dragon. It was not just his duty. It was more than that.
The peasant cast him a dismissive glance. "Look, you go your way, I'll go mine. You ain't the first knight that's come after it, and I'm not the first peasant, so best of luck, eh? And we'll see who gets him." He shouldered his bedroll and continued on, doggedly.
"I wish you luck," said Hutch, rather stiffly. He touched Lance's reins, and wheeled around, going back to the village for clues. No doubt the man was correct; but all the same, it was best to check for survivors with his own two eyes.
Hutch had never killed a dragon before, and he wanted to go about things the right way.
#
It was not hard to follow the dragon's spoor. It smelled. It knocked over things. It often left burn marks and scratch marks. And sometimes, it left bits of rotting flesh from its victims: its prey, its meals.
He'd found a hand yesterday, before he reached the village. A hand with a ring on it, blinking ruby and gold. He'd wondered where the dragon had found a nobleman.
Now he found himself looking back to critically regard the knight. He didn't look terribly fierce for a knight, once he'd pulled his helmet off. Starsky had somehow expected knights to be terrible: great, bear-like men who would snarl and knock you over at the least impertinence. But Starsky just didn't give a damn anymore. And the knight hadn't knocked him over at all.
He headed into the forest following the trail, and glanced back once more. The knight was on foot now, still in his armour, and leading his horse. He had one hand on its side, rubbing absently. It trailed him as he began to pick his way through the rubble.
Rubble. Starsky brought a hand to his head at the stab of pain there, with the memories. It seemed right that it should be real, physical pain: but all the same it hurt. The...body...what had been left of his wife, Terri, destroyed like so much meat.
He couldn't...there was no way he could survive that. But he didn't expect to, for long.
He kept walking, trying to see past the blur of pain in his head, the unbearable pain that he must bear. At least for a little while yet.
Ahead, he heard a snuffling, grunting, piggy sound and looked up, blinking, clearing his eyes.
A wild boar stood in the path, holding a human foot in its mouth. It dropped the foot, gave an enraged bellow, and barrelled towards him.
"Aaaahhh!" He dropped his bedroll and ran, zigzagging.
The thick trees were a little help, but the boar was fast. Starsky whipped past nettles and spiny vines; they lashed his face, his arms. He spotted a tree thick enough to climb and ran towards it. He was not in the ordinary good at climbing trees, but with the boar after him, he reached it and scrambled up, found himself perched on the lowest branch, his feet barely above the hot breath of the enraged creature.
He stood there, clinging to the tree, panting and trying to see if he could get higher. But the tree was not as thick as it had at first appeared, and when he pulled on the higher branches to see if they'd take his weight, they bowed. He just had to wait it out. Maybe, if the boar was gone in an hour, he could retrieve his bedroll before dark.
He stood there, waiting, sweat beading his forehead. He found himself rather hoping the knight would come along, and distract it. Or even kill it.
Starsky shifted from foot to foot, and eyed the sinking sun nervously. Sure enough, the pig had turned away, and was now rooting around nearby making angry sounds. It would not go away altogether, though, and every once in a while it looked up at him with its mean little eyes, coldly intelligent and full of hate.
"Oh, no, oh..." He shifted desperately, and reached out, as if he could stop the pig. He grimaced and cursed. Because the boar had found his bedroll, and was cheerfully ripping it to shreds, snorting and oinking down to the last crust of bread. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, it didn't seem to have found the little bottle...
#
Hutch heard it before he saw it, a snorting, greedy, animal eating, and the groan of a man. It sounded like the peasant he'd seen on the village. He quickened his horse's steps, and pulled his sword, fear traversing his spine. Was the dragon here already? Was it eating that man?
He'd never tackled a dragon before, and he felt afraid. Would his sword be enough? To combat his fear, he sent his horse galloping forward, quick as Lance could go.
Ahead, he saw a—a boar! Nothing but a boar, ripping up cloth and eating something in a snorting, piggish manner. The dark-haired man crouched in a tree, watching unhappily.
"Knight! Kill it—kill it! He's eating my supplies!" The peasant gestured earnestly.
Hutch urged his horse forward, swung his sword, and leaned from his saddle. The pig saw him and looked up, rage enflaming its small, mean eyes. It started forward, squealing, showing its sharp, yellowing fangs.
SSSSLLLTTT!
Hutch's sword divided the pig in two, and the squealing abruptly stopped. The shining sword was now wet and the pig lay in two pieces, nothing but meat.
Hutch hopped off his horse, wiped the sword on some green weeds and turned to the man in the tree, who was now climbing awkwardly down. "He ate your supplies?"
"Yes—ouch." The man nodded, and jerked his hand back from some thorns. It came away bloody.
Hutch stepped forward, let his sword drop, and put his hands on the man's sides to help him down. Grumbling, the peasant let him help, and Hutch set him down on the ground. "Is it bad?" Hutch asked.
The man brushed himself off with his non-bleeding hand, and turned to scowl at Hutch, looking feather-ruffled and proud, and so very poor and desperate. His clothes were raggedy beyond measure, and there was a hungry look to his tight face, behind the pride. And underneath it all, a bleak, grief-stricken look.
"I will be fine. Thank you for killing it." He began to sort through his destroyed pack, rescuing a thin, torn blanket, what looked like the metal tip to a spear, and a small apothecary jar.
"Let's butcher the meat. I could use some supplies, and I'm sure you could, as well." Hutch walked back to his horse, retrieved a bit of white cloth bandage from his bags, and walked back.
The peasant looked as though he wasn't going to accept it—or as if perhaps it were quite a dangerous bit of cloth. Hutch decided not to give him the chance to argue. He reached out and caught the hand—the peasant winced as he pulled it out—and wrapped the cloth around the man's hand competently and quickly. He tied it tight, and gave back the man's hand.
He found the man staring at him, rather suspiciously, but somehow calmer, as well. He rubbed his cut hand against his side. "I have a good knife," he offered.
"Then you take that piece of pig, and I'll take this one." Hutch gave him a smile, and was pleased to see a ghost of it returned. He didn't know why, but he wanted this man to stop looking so sad.
#
After they butchered the pig, the knight invited Starsky, quietly and calmly, even humbly, to stay. "We may as well share a fire," he suggested, and gave Starsky a calm, questioning look.
And Starsky found himself nodding in response.
They ate roast boar by the firelight. Starsky ate steadily. He hadn't realized just how hungry he was. He'd barely bothered with food the last few days, in his grief and his single-minded rage. Now the tough boar meat tasted like the best thing he'd ever eaten, made more than palatable by roasting.
The knight did not talk much, but he ate nearly as hungrily and steadily. Once in a while, Starsky felt the knight's eyes on him, as if trying to weigh him up. But the man did not ask any personal questions. Starsky had told him enough, anyway; his family was dead and he meant to go for revenge on the dragon. A suicide mission, to be sure.
Starsky could've asked a few questions of the knight, but he was certain they would not be welcome; especially as they would sound like what they were: a doubt of the man's abilities, a doubt of his motives. If this knight thought fame and fortune would come from dragon-hunting, or that it would be an easy quest, he was far from correct!
Starsky lay down by the fire at length, replete. Even the rough ground felt soft, if you were tired enough. He pulled his thin, boar-torn blanket around himself and began to drop off. Before he fell asleep, he was aware of a soft weight settling on him, warm and comforting: a thick, soft blanket. The knight must have had a spare. Starsky was too tired to bother saying anything, and too heart-sick to care.
He slept long and deep, and wakened with a cry to the face of his wife. He was reaching out for her, and she was not there. And tears streamed down his face, because he would never be able to reach her in time, never now, for it was too late...
"It's all right," said the knight, moving around the fire quickly, a swift concern and alarm overtaking his features. "You are safe here."
"My Terri," said Starsky, and slumped back to the earth, and did not try to staunch his tears.
The knight stared down awkwardly at him. "I'm... sorry," he said at length. Words meant nothing, and Starsky ignored him, the wetness tracking untouched down his cheeks. He turned his face to the sweet earth. It had accepted Terri's body—what was left of it—and it would accept his as well one day soon when he had slain the dragon or died trying.
After a moment, the knight crouched or knelt beside Starsky. A big, awkward hand rested on his back. "You must get up. Eat something. Drink water. Don't just lay there and die."
Starsky ignored him. He couldn't care less about any orders from the nobility at present, even such concerned-sounding orders as these. He lay there and wept and did not care if he lived or died. If only he had saved Terri—or the dragon had killed them both. He did not think he could live without her...
"You must get up," said the knight in a firmer voice. "Please." Strong arms tugged at Starsky, and he found himself pulled towards a sitting position. He was quite ready to slump back to the ground, ignoring the knight, ignoring everything because nothing mattered anymore. Somehow with the dream, his grief had broken open and flooded his soul. He had not even the strength to hold back from it and hunt the dragon.
But instead of slumping back to the ground, he found himself encircled in strong arms, wrapped intimately close to the knight's chest. The knight held him tight, and rocked him slightly. He did not say a word. There were no words.
The knight smelled of the forest, and of horse, and sweat, and earth. Starsky cried for a long time, cried himself out, a river of tears, till the river ran dry. And then he was still. The rocking slowed and stopped. The knight smoothed Starsky's hair back from his forehead. Awkwardly, he let go and went around to the other end of the fire and stirred a small, blackened pot. He looked awkward, and did not meet Starsky's gaze. Starsky watched him dully. Once in awhile, he hiccupped. He could not even muster the energy to be ashamed or embarrassed.
The knight returned with a hot, thick stew, and handed Starsky a bowl of it. He prodded at Starsky to eat it, till it was less bother to eat it than not. Starsky ate woodenly. Gone was his appetite from last night, and he did not feel like he was alive. Yet, somehow, the food got eaten. And he obediently drank the water the knight gave him, and a little mead.
But most of the boar meat the knight strung up in the trees, too high for anyone to reach. The horse could not carry it and a rider too. Or in this case, two riders.
When the knight insisted, Starsky got up in front of him on the horse—though Starsky had never ridden before, and needed help to clamber up. The knight climbed up behind him, and wrapped his arms round Starsky, and worked the reins that way.
Starsky had been only vaguely aware of the knight's activities: banking the fire, preparing their packs, getting his horse ready to travel. It was not for several hours, till the sun was high in the sky and his body, betraying him, mentioned with a growl of hunger in his stomach that it did, after all, want to live, that he found himself looking around with something like recognition and awareness, even curiosity.
The knight had somehow sensed or felt more than saw that this was the case, because for the first time, his voice split the silence of the forest. "Need a drink?"
"Yes please," said Starsky in a small voice, and was surprised at how weak and young he sounded, as though he were a small boy who had been crying through the night and could not quite believe it was morning. He accepted the water skin and drank deeply, and the water tasted good.
He was exhausted all over again. He settled back against the knight and closed his eyes, and let the horse lull him to sleep.
#
When he awoke, Starsky felt better. He wasn't sure why or exactly how, but the terrible numb feeling he'd been living had begun to abate. Maybe he would be able to think clearly when it came time to try to kill the dragon.
Arms shifted around him. "Are you all right?" asked the knight.
Starsky wondered what he should call him. It would be difficult for him to call the man 'sir' all the time, much less 'lord' or anything else like that. But he didn't want to be rude anymore, either.
Instead of answering the knight's question, he asked his own. "What should I call you?"
"Oh," said the knight, sounding surprised. "Hutch. My name's Hutchinson, but—I tend to be called Hutch."
"Sir Hutch?" asked Starsky, checking to be sure.
"Just Hutch."
Starsky nodded. "And I'm David Starsky. Thank you for the help. Both with the boar—and—" He hesitated, not certain how to class Hutch's tender mercies over the past hours.
"That's all right," said the knight. "You're welcome."
Starsky could almost feel Hutch's smile in his voice, and it made him feel better somehow. The arms tightened briefly around him, then loosened.
He found himself looking around as they rode, interested in the landscape, the tree-crowded forest, and the open spaces, the dirt roads and shabby paths. They wandered and meandered. Hutch and his horse seemed to know where to go, but Starsky had only an imperfect idea. He could no longer see obvious spoor from the dragon, or destruction or bits of carnage. Indeed, the paths and places they took seemed hardly travelled by man, much less a big, dangerous dragon. But somehow he trusted Hutch now, and was more than willing to enjoy the journey as much as he could. After all, it was probably the last trip he'd ever make before dying.
Starsky had never been this far from his village before in his life. Somehow he felt as though the world was larger than he had thought, seeing so much of it like this. The knight and his trustworthy horse seemed to take it all stride, but to Starsky, each new bend of the road was an adventure. He found himself looking forward to each one.
#
After a time, something began to change. It was nearly dusk, and a foul odour overtook them. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, and it made the horse snort and shake his head. It smelled like bad breath a thousand years old. The further they steadily rode the worse it got, till Hutch tied a cloth over the horse's nose so it would not smell the stench so strongly.
It reminded Starsky of the smell in the village, from the dragon's attack, and it made him feel alternately very sick and very angry.
The men did not speak much. There was a grim purpose to their silence, as each man kept his eyes open and his body tensed and ready in case the dragon should suddenly appear and have at them. But it did not; night had nearly fallen, and it still did not appear.
"We must stop," said Hutch. "They are not active at night. They need the sun for warmth. We must sleep while we can, for surely it will be upon us tomorrow."
"Or we will be upon it," reminded Starsky. They climbed down from the saddle, Starsky with a great deal of help for he was more sore than he could possibly have imagined just sitting on a horse could make him. He stumbled to the ground and had to lie there a moment, recovering. But then he was up and about, helping Hutch make the hurried camp site and prepare for bed. They made no fire, for Hutch said it could easily attract the dragon. Dragons liked fire and warmth, and would find two sleeping people a tasty snack in the night, if drawn by the fire.
With these cheering thoughts, the two men spread out their blankets and settled down, back to back for some semblance of warmth.
Though he was utterly exhausted, Starsky found he could not drop off. Everything seemed to echo with the vast darkness of the night—trees overhead shushing ominously, stars cold and farther yet away; and the smell, the ever-present smell that tainted his every breath. Perhaps it was no wonder he couldn't sleep; for tonight would be his last night, and who can sleep easily in that knowledge but the very best and of least imaginative of men?
"Hutch," he said softly.
"Yes?" said the knight, obviously just as awake.
"How do you plan to kill it?"
"With my lance and my sword. And my horse is trained for war; he will charge and kick and bite as well. I've never killed a dragon before, but I know no other way to try."
"But dragons eat horses and men. You will die," suggested Starsky.
Hutch's shoulders shifted slightly in a shrug. "I may. I have to try, though."
"But why?"
"I am a knight. It is my duty." These simple words said so much about him. Starsky found himself strangely touched.
Hutch's back was warm and sturdy, and Starsky thought sadly of a world without this man, so brave, so noble—so stupid.
"Starsky," said the knight. It was his turn to sound hesitant.
"Yes, Hutch?" asked Starsky. For all that they came from different stations in life, he could no longer think of it. He spoke to Hutch as easily and simply as if he had known the man all his life as a staunch friend. Perhaps it was the proximity to death that lent this familiarity. For certainly with as little time left as they both had, you had no time for fronts, games and dissimulation. Especially with the man who would likely die by your side.
"You could turn back. I know that on foot, and with only your—your knife, you will have little chance—"
"There is no point for me to live if I turn back."
"Oh," said Hutch quietly, as though he rather understood and yet felt bad for Starsky all the same. "It must be... What is it like, to love someone so much that you would rather not live without them?"
"It is both the worst and the best thing," said Starsky. And then he did not feel like talking anymore, and tears were sliding down his cheeks. Not the frantic, heavy-raining tears of earlier, but quiet mourning, remembering now the good as well as the bad. He had not thought that he would ever remember her smiling face again, but now he did, and he wiped at his eyes and smiled as well.
#
When morning found them, the wind had shifted and the stench had eased.
The horse did not put up a fight about being saddled, and going the direction Hutch steered him. Starsky rode behind him today, holding on. He was still sore from the unaccustomed muscles that riding used, but he felt like quite an experienced rider compared to yesterday.
He held onto Hutch round the middle, and Hutch told the horse where to go with slight movements of his legs, feet and the reins. Starsky found himself watching, wondering how one could learn such a thing. It was as though Hutch and the horse were connected, as though they could read each other's minds without trying. He knew it was the tiny signals and not mental connection, but all the same he marvelled.
When they drew near to a great, rocky area, where little grew and a cave lurked ahead next to twisted, stunted, and burned trees split by lightning, Hutch halted his horse. Starsky obligingly got off and held the reins for him. Hutch clambered down in his heavy armour. He must be awfully strong to wear all that armour, Starsky realized for the first time.
"We can set up camp here," said Hutch, "and you can guard the supplies. My horse can't possibly carry everything when we attack the dragon."
For a moment, Starsky didn't understand. And then he did. "You want me to stay behind. No."
"I want you to stay safe. What good can you do against a dragon, with only a knife?"
"I won't stay. I have to face it. What kind of man would I be if I didn't?"
"The kind with sense enough to stay alive and let knights fight dragons," growled the blond-haired knight, his blue eyes narrowing dangerously.
Starsky shut his mouth stubbornly, and did not reply. He went about the task he had so long planned, cutting down a long stick and fastening a metal tip onto the end, smearing it with poison from the little jar—one thing the dragon had not destroyed, though he had destroyed an apothecary and the owner's family. Starsky had found it in the last destroyed town but one, and his plan, until then formless, had taken shape. After that he had gotten a metal tip for a spear from a destroyed forge, and carried both with him wherever he went on his quest for the dragon.
Starsky did a thorough job, ignoring the knight, who went about his own preparations quietly.
"I can't make you stay," said Hutch, more gently now. "But will you at least consider...?"
"No."
"Starsky, I am more trained and prepared than you could ever be. I have this armour, a real sword, and a loyal fighting horse. What do you have? A sharpened stick with a little medicine on it? And a tiny knife." He scoffed quietly. "Come now, and let me handle it. It is my job, you know."
"I won't stay behind," said Starsky.
"All right." The knight turned his back on Starsky and did something with the saddle, thoughtfully. Starsky paid attention to getting the end of the makeshift spear thoroughly wet with the sticky poison. He was careful not to touch it.
Hutch turned around, and suddenly Starsky found himself caught. Ropes looped around him and he was down, bound hand and foot, his face pressing against the leafy ground. He grunted as the ropes pulled tighter. "What are you doing?"
"I'm saving your life. You'll thank me later." The knight gave Starsky's wild hair a rough pat and moved away.
"Hutch. Get back here. Hutch! Hutch!" But there was no answer as the knight finished his preparations, mounted his war horse, and went away to find a dragon and try to kill it. And to die.
Starsky squirmed in the hot morning sun, sweat making his face slick and hot, uncomfortable. He fumbled with the bonds, but the knight had tied them tightly. His hands were beginning to prickle and go numb. He tried to find his knife. Perhaps the knight had taken it...
Somewhere far away, he heard a horse scream. And then a dragon roar. He fought the ropes in anger and fear. He did not want to live here forever, when the knight did not come back. Perhaps the dragon would find him, and he could not even go down fighting.
"You fool, you fool," said Starsky, gasping and aching. His fingers found something cold, and he felt a prick, and slick drops of blood from his finger. His knife! The knight had forgotten it! He fumbled with it, cut himself again, and hacked and sawed his way through the ropes.
He grasped his knife and his poisoned spear and ran, stumbling in his haste and as the feeling returned painfully to his hands and feet. He ran towards the sounds.
There was the dragon's enraged roar, ahead. A horse screamed, sounding both angry and terrified. And Hutch yelled—a war cry? Starsky hoped it was a war cry, and not a death cry.
Starsky ran, terror speeding him on. Leaves whipped at him, and he nearly dropped his spear and knife. He stumbled, and cut himself on thorns, and ran—
Then he saw them, ahead, at a great cave littered outside with pebbles and sharp, dragon-shed scales. The dragon had several arrows in its hide, but they did not seem to affect it at all. It was a heavily muscled beast with more power in one of its front legs than several horses, and it was walking towards Hutch. Its long red tongue flicked in and out, as if testing something. Its dark, hard eyes held death.
The horse screamed again, backing, rising on its hind legs and pawing the air with its front hooves. Hutch shot another arrow, and it stuck in the dragon's hide, but again seemed to do no damage. The dragon did not even flinch. It just continued walking towards the knight, its eyes full of steady danger.
Hutch put away his bow and arrow and drew his sword. It gleamed for a moment, silver and clean, pure as gold in the sunlight. Then at a command from Hutch, the horse charged forward and Hutch leaned from the saddle, much as he had done with the hog, and swung his great blade.
"Hutch!" cried Starsky.
The dragon was taller than the boar had been, and its hide was so much thicker. It turned sideways, snapping. Hutch's blade caught it on the head, and the sword rang as though against metal. Heavy dragon scales proved as effective as Hutch's armour.
Horse and Hutch swung around, galloping out of the reach of one heavy forepaw that swung at them. Dragon wings spread suddenly, so huge they made the sky seem to darken. Starsky gasped at the sight of them. In spite of himself, he fell back, stumbling over uneven rocks in his haste to get away.
The dragon surged forward, and the horse and rider whirled and ran from them. He saw Hutch's face at the same moment that Hutch saw him, and Starsky glimpsed, for an instant, the utter shock and horror in the knight's eyes. Starsky was in the path of the dragon now. The horse galloped by, momentum making a sudden stop on these stones both dangerous and actually impossible.
Starsky gulped, and steadied his spear, and gazed down the throat of the dragon. The stench was so strong. Starsky's eyes watered, and he gagged. It smelled of death and destruction.
"Starsky!" Hutch yelled, just before the dragon was upon him, and then there was nothing but its mouth, opening wide like the gaping jaws of hell to welcome him. He stared down the red throat and at the filthy teeth.
Terri, thought Starsky, and plunged.
The stick snapped in half, a mere splinter in the dragon's mouth. It continued forward, and roared. Its wings seemed to blot out the whole sky now, and Starsky knew he would meet his end in the beast's belly, as his wife had done.
Then Hutch shouted something, almost audible over the roar, and Starsky was caught from behind, jerked up by his shirt and slung over the saddle like a heavy sack.
The horse galloped away, Starsky bouncing and bumping all the while. The knight rode grim and fast. His breath jolting from him, Hutch said, "You—stupid—idiot! Could've—been—killed!"
Starsky clung to the horse and tried not to fall off.
The dragon trailed them as they rode, its large steps slower than the horse's, but longer. It seemed to surge over the ground. Terror jumped up in Starsky's throat when he could look back and see it; he felt as though he could die just from fright. He'd tried to face it, to face death calmly, but being chased by it still held the power to terrify him.
The horse ran for all it was worth, and the stench and roar of the dragon followed them.
Then the horse stumbled upon the loose stones, and both men were thrown. The horse screamed, and, righting itself, ran on. Hutch called for it, but caught by terror of the beast, the war-horse could not overcome its terror of the dragon.
Now both men pulled themselves to their feet. There was no use running; the dragon was faster than they. Hutch pulled his sword. His breathing was harsh and ragged. "Stay behind me," he said, putting himself in front of Starsky. "When it goes for me, run."
Starsky had hurt his foot in the fall, and did not see how he could possibly run anywhere—even supposing he was willing to let the knight die for him this way, so hopelessly.
"You run, when it eats me," said Starsky. He took a limping step forward, and pulled his knife. It seemed such a puny thing against a dragon—against anything, really—but he would not die without a fight. He would fight all the way down to its belly. He had a confused thought of Jonah and the Whale, and being swallowed whole. Hutch beside him gave a laugh that sounded a little mad.
"I wouldn't run for worlds," said Hutch, and Starsky saw the same grim determination in the man's eyes that he felt in his own heart. They looked at one another, one brief gleaming second of perfect understanding. Hutch would never leave him to his fate, and Starsky would never leave Hutch to his either.
They turned together, shoulder to shoulder, to fight the dragon, one last hurrah together, men hopelessly outnumbered yet unconquerable.
The dragon, Starsky realized as it filled his vision yet again, had slowed.
Its pace, from almost as fast as a horse, had slowed to that of a man running. And then a man walking.
It shook its head, and snorted. Something—from its mouth—long strings of drool. Starsky had not seen them before. The dragon shook its head again. It had a glassy look in its eye—
"The poison," said Starsky, hardly daring to breath. He felt a great hopeless laugh rising up in him.
The dragon raised its head again and shook it, then lowered its muzzle as though confused. It snorted again, and tried to paw at its head, drooling savagely. Now it seemed not a monster, just another animal ready to die.
"Perhaps we could walk away," suggested Starsky. "It's—strong yet. If we stay just beyond it..."
"I couldn't agree more," said Hutch, and the two men edged warily backwards, their weapons still useless but at the ready.
The dragon had stopped paying attention to them as it listened to some internal voice. It snorted and fell sideways to the ground with an earth-shattering cry. Its legs spasmed, it shook its head, and then lay still. The long, red tongue lolled sideways to the earth.
The two men stared at the dead dragon, then turned to stare incredulously at each other.
"Your poison. You killed it," said Hutch finally. He took his helmet off, and wiped sweat from his face.
"Yes," said Starsky. "You saved me," he added.
"Yes," said Hutch. There seemed nothing more to say. They turned and headed after the horse, side by side, picking their way amongst the littering stones, leaning on each other for support.
#
They made camp in a sort of daze. Each had been knocked about during the fight and from falling off the horse; they both had a bit of a limp. By the time they had finally caught up with Hutch's horse, rode back to where he had left his supplies and made camp, it was dark. Starsky found himself surprisingly reluctant to speak. Now that they had fought and nearly died together, he was almost a bit shy.
They seemed to have nothing to say to one another. And yet—they were certainly not strangers anymore. Starsky felt he'd known Hutch for years, and yet they had barely met each other. He wondered if they were really still strangers.
"More stew?" asked Hutch politely, not quite looking at him.
"Yes thank you," said Starsky, accepting another bowl of the stew Hutch had cooked.
Finally they finished eating and settled on opposite sides of the fire, rolling up in blankets for warmth. They had both grown rather hardened to the smell of the dragon, though Starsky would be glad of a dip in a water when he could get one; the dragon had breathed on him.
"I wonder..." said Hutch rather hesitatingly.
"Yes?" said Starsky.
"If you haven't anywhere you have to go..." Hutch sounded uncertain and a bit—shy.
"I haven't," said Starsky.
"Well perhaps we could travel together for a bit. I mean, if there are any more dragons on the way, I shall certainly need your help to slay them."
"Oh, indeed," said Starsky, biting his lip to keep from laughing. He felt a great surge of relief and hope. He didn't know where to go or what to do on his own; but he wouldn't possibly go back to feeling so lost if he and the knight stayed together for a bit.
"Well I was thinking of heading back to my home," continued Hutch in a stronger voice, sounding just as glad. "Perhaps you could—stay for a while when we get there."
Starsky felt his smile disappear, and a cold spot settle in his gut. He swallowed.
Out here, they were equals—men who had killed a dragon together, and nearly died together—but anywhere else they would be on such different levels: Starsky a homeless farmer, Hutch a knight.
"I suppose you even have a patch of land I might farm as a serf," said Starsky in a colourless voice.
There was a moment of intense silence.
"I suppose so," said Hutch, wretchedly. "If you wanted to. I meant to invite you to stay with me for a time, as a friend, but if you'd rather..."
"I would like to do something useful, and I do know how to farm—but I would not like to," admitted Starsky, still sounding rather stiff and unhappy. "I don't think I could call you Lord or Sir after everything we've been through—though you no doubt deserve the respect. I just can't think of you as anything but a friend now."
Then he could've bitten his tongue, for he'd just admitted he wanted Hutch as a friend. The other man might laugh at him now, and despise him.
Hutch did laugh, but it was a glad little laugh that brought a smile unbidden to Starsky's face. "Oh good, I am glad," said Hutch.
Both men laughed. "We'll work it out tomorrow. Goodnight, friend," said Hutch.
"Goodnight, friend." Starsky lay smiling at the stars till he was too tired to stay awake.
#
They were riding. Riding and talking. Starsky thought he was becoming a much better rider, and he felt like he and Hutch could understand one another and communicate better all the time. Words seemed almost unnecessary sometimes. Perhaps because of fighting the dragon together.
Hutch was excited to be going home with news of the dragon. Neither man had thought to bring back a trophy—and the dragon had smelled too bad to really consider it—but they wondered sometimes if anyone would believe they'd killed it. Indeed, sometimes it seemed impossible even to them.
"Still, we didn't do it for fame," said Hutch virtuously.
"No," agreed Starsky. But it would be nice to be famous! "But if people knew we did it, they might ask us to kill others." He thought of his own village, so unprepared, so vulnerable to the killer dragon. They had had no protector, no one to help them. That dragon was now dead, but what of the others that might be even now marauding the country? He and Hutch between them now knew how to kill dragons.
"We barely escaped with our lives this time, but we'd do better next time."
Hutch turned in the saddle to blink at him. "You're right. We would. Fast horses—poison—we know what we need now. Arrows won't do it—you have to get close enough for a spear. Unless—perhaps a stronger sort of arrow, with poisoned tips..."
For some reason, Starsky felt like laughing aloud. "Yes, yes! You could make one, I'm sure of it! Maybe we could kill them without getting so close after all."
"And you'd need your own horse," said Hutch. "It would be much faster and better, if we each had our own horse."
Starsky sobered again. "I could never afford a horse."
"Then," said Hutch, smiling, "I will just have to give you one. I can't have my partner facing dragons on foot."
"I could never—"
"Don't be silly, of course you'll accept it. We'll be rich, you know. If we can kill enough dragons, we're sure to get some reward from the king—or perhaps the towns we save. Dragons are too dangerous to just ignore. If we can protect any cities, we're sure to do well. But even if we don't, my home has enough to support us on a few long trips a year going after dragons."
Starsky thought about this. It sounded too good to be true, a life full of the possibilities that Starsky's life had never held before. Was it possible, even with Hutch by his side?
"I know just the horse for you, too," Hutch said, musing. "It was an overgrown, rowdy colt when I left, but it's sure to be calmer now. A fast beast with a lot of spirit—and you'll need both to face dragons."
"I can barely ride," Starsky reminded him, poking Hutch in the arm and then leaning closer, so his chin rested on Hutch's shoulder. He looked at the world over it. He felt sleepy in the hot sun, but too excited from their conversation to doze off.
"You'll learn," said Hutch. "I'll teach you the rest of what you need to know. And it's a great horse, this one, a lovely red horse with a white blaze..."
Starsky tried to imagine himself riding such a horse side by side with Hutch, their horses prancing and eager, they themselves armed and deadly to dragons. He imagined looking across at Hutch, grinning, and then racing towards a cave, ready to face danger and death at this man's side.
It seemed so far away and like a dream. Yet, somehow, it was going to be true... He closed his eyes in sheer happiness, which he had never thought he could feel again. He turned his face towards the sun, letting the heat melt away his fears.
He had survived the dragon, and made a new friend, and he would have a useful life, saving others from the death his wife had known. It was enough. It was enough to live for and feel glad about.
He would never forget Terri. She would make each dragon-hunt meaningful. If he could save even one more person from that fate...
He became aware that Hutch was patting his arm, kindly and a little awkwardly. He had wrapped his arms around Hutch without realizing it, leaning against him for support, though he should be able to ride by now without holding on.
"It'll get easier, Starsk," Hutch said softly. "Grief is like that."
"Yes," said Starsky. "And I am glad now, you know, to be alive."
"I am glad you are as well," said Hutch simply.
There were no more words of thanks between them; the truth lay clear enough. Neither would be alive without the other. They would not let each other go any time soon.
They continued riding towards the sunset, Hutch's castle home, and their new life hunting dragons. Together.
the end