Dragonslayer - Chapter 1

IN A HUT positioned just outside the human town of Slout, which was in the goblin plains, there lived a family. Some said they had a noble history as dragonslayers, but the lack of dragons for twenty years had impoverished them to the point that most people were amazed that they hadn’t resorted to begging long ago. In this family hut only two members remained. They were a fifteen year-old boy, Jamin, and his grandmother, Ginnif. When the story started, Jamin was sitting on his chair, receiving his daily lessons from Ginnif.
“There are four species in the order of Magnus Equus. Can you tell me what they are?”
“Unicorns, pyrotaurs, pegasii, and centaurs, the only intelligent species, Gramma,” recited Jamin, wishing he could go outside or learn about dragons.
Ginnif smiled at her grandson’s intelligence. (Actually this was not a sign of intelligence, but you will find few grandparents who will readily admit that their grandson is a parrot. Believe it or not, though, Jamin was not really stupid.) “Good. And do you remember what I said about…”
Unfortunately for her, but fortunately for Jamin, they were interrupted by two shrill screams from outside. One was human. One was not. “Wyvern!” shrieked the human voice, which Jamin recognized as Naomi, their closest neighbour and owner of a large field of potatoes currently being ravaged by a wyvern.
Jamin gratefully grabbed his bow and ran outside. There was no question as to whether he should stay inside and continue his lessons. Driving off wyverns was a community effort.
Looking around towards Naomi’s field, he saw the brute. It looked like its cousin the Great Dragon, but it only had two legs. It had the size and the brain of a horse, a barbed tail, and it was black.
Jamin also saw the crowd of villagers coming out to kill the beast. They were armed with anything they could get their hands on, from old great swords to pitchforks to frying pans. What the villagers lacked in wealth, they more than made up for in courage.
“Use magic,” said Ginnif. “I bet you could take that thing out with your practice.”
I doubt it. I couldn’t kill a rabbit with that magic, thought Jamin. Instead he raised his bow and, with infallible aim, shot the wyvern through the mouth.
The villagers all groaned. Killing wyverns was the highlight of their day! Amid the mass of grumbling and retreating people one person stood, clapping merrily. It was a man who Jamin had never seen before.
“Well done! Well done,” said the man. “I couldn’t have done it better myself. Well, actually, I could. How are you, Ginnif?”
Jamin turned to see Ginnif behind him and was surprised to see that a steely look had crept into her eyes. He decided not to like this new man.
“Ristu,” Ginnif acknowledged coldly. “What are you doing here? And how many times have I told you, call me Mom!”
“Oh, come now, Ginnif,” said Ristu, deliberately not calling her Mom. “You know as well as I do that our family always leaves this house at the age of fifteen to take up the honorary title of dragonslayer. It’s like a calling.”
“Who is this man, Gramma?” asked Jamin quietly. Ristu heard anyway, and glanced at Ginnif to see what her response would be.
“It’s your Uncle Ristu, a dragonslayer of distinction,” Ginnif spat out the word like warm water.
Suddenly Jamin understood why Ginnif seemed to hate Ristu. She loved all living things and dragons were no exception. To kill a wyvern ravaging crops was one thing, because a wyvern that found it could get away with that sort of thing never stopped. (Besides, wyverns sometimes spontaneously regenerated.) But to go out and make a living hunting dragons to kill was something else entirely.
In Ginnif’s opinion, at least. Jamin found the prospect exciting. It might have been Genes. It might have been because he was fifteen years old. It might have been because dragons roamed the country sides, stealing treasure wherever they went, but Jamin wasn’t quite sure about that one. They also said that dragons were stupid brutes, but if that were so why would they want treasure? But he knew that he did not want to go with this man. “I don’t want to go,” Jamin announced.
Ristu scowled. “You don’t have a choice. You can’t argue with Tradition.”
“I can try,” stated Jamin, heading back into the house.
“Ah, Jamin, could you check the pegasus’ tether?” asked Ginnif. “It doesn’t look very secure. Larry almost bolted when that wyvern came.”
“I don’t see anything wrong with it,” Jamin protested.
“Oh… this has been a very tiring day. Could you just do as I ask?” Ginnif asked with her eyes shut as if from exhaustion. Jamin was sure he saw her eyelids glow green just the tiniest bit.
Larry’s post was a little ways from the house. Looking at the tether that held Larry, his suspicions were confirmed as he saw it was much looser than it was before. Ristu seemed not to have noticed anything.
Jamin understood that Ginnif wanted to discuss something alone with Ristu. “Yes, Grandma,” he said, inclining his head. Ginnif and Ristu went into the house and he went to the pegasus.
After tying Larry back to his post, (A horse would live in a stable, but a pegasus, even a tame one, can’t live in an enclosed space) Jamin listened for any strands of conversation he could catch. He heard raised voices, but could not distinguish from whom they came.
Finally Ginnif came out, looking truly tired. “You can take Larry if you want. I’ll use the horse.”

*

“I can’t do this,” said Gorth uneasily. He looked at the young Purmal with barely disguised pity. He had to disguise it, though, because he was a skallerb. That meant that whatever benevolent feelings he had, he must hide them.
“You have to!” snarled his father. Ten feet but for his stoop, he looked like a large troll without webbed hands or feet. “This is for you to become a skallerb! If you do not, you will die.”
Gorth believed it. He did not put it past his parents to kill him or anything else, though he found the prospect revolting. Secretly, he thought he might be one of the Brellaks, the hated and killed off “good” skallerbs. (As a species, skallerbs aren’t very good with names).
But what must be done must be done. Trying to ignore the Purmal’s pleading looks, he brought down his claws.