Roar of Flames

                                                                ROAR OF FLAMES





Zrathem panted as he pushed himself up into the sky, away from the men’s arrows. Not five minutes ago had Zrathem run into a band of dragon hunters, bent on bringing home a dragon tooth or claw to show their friends. His silver bulk glistened in the clear afternoon sun and the big dragon considered allowing them to chase him for a while, unsuccessfully, then leave them lost in the trees below the mountains of his home, but decided against it. As the hunters wanted a piece of him to take home, so did Zrathem want a piece of them.

      So he folded his wings and dived down, spiralling toward the hunters, his radiant scales flashing as he picked up speed. Just before he hit the ground Zrathem spread his powerful wings, slowing him enough that he could still crush the unfortunate hunter beneath him, but spare himself from being pummelled against the ground. Before his wings were even stretched to their full extent he folded them back in. They were vulnerable, poking out like that. He spun, knocking the closest few over with his limbs and tail. His clawed paw slashed at the next one while his tail guarded his behind and he opened his mouth and roared a deadly roar. The sound made the ground rumble and the warriors' teeth rattle, and fire came with the roar, red and orange, white-hot fire, licking at everything close enough.

      Before he was overrun, he made a few more dancing blows with his tail and spread his wings, shooting up into the sky, but even this wasn’t easy. Building his momentum with powerful strokes from his silver scaled wings he used the force he had just gained to protect his wings by pulling them back into his body as he dodged the arrows raining from below.

      Zrathem dived again and blew a steam of fire at the men below, distantly, he heard their screams and revelled in them. He hated dragon hunters – with a vengeance. The flow of flames cut off abruptly as he screamed in pain. He had been sidetracked and one of the hunters had cut his wing, and Zrathem feared he was stuck on the ground. His fears came true as the massive silver dragon struggled to pull himself into the sky, and failed.

      The hunters whooped at achieving this much against him, and rushed at him with renewed vigour. Breathing fire and flailing his limbs, barely repelling the attacks each time, Zrathem realised that they could kill him anytime now, but they weren’t. Why not? His mind raced in search of an answer but found none.

      Eventually six men came forward from the back of the mob, lugging a set of dragon manacles. The hunters just kept coming at him without a break. The manacles were getting ever so much closer and he was getting ever so much more exhausted. What Zrathem had thought was going to be a frolicsome play-fight where he came out on top was turning into a deadly mêlée. Before he realised it the manacle bearers were just seconds away and the hunters were doubling their efforts.

      The steel manacles came up to clip around his front leg, but Zrathem refused to let them take down a dragon that easily and burnt the man to ashes. Before the first one had finished dying, it seemed the huntsman from behind had picked them up again. Zrathem grimaced as he felt a heavy metal ring close around his back leg. He jerked it savagely and knocked over more men, burning them to a crisp at his feet. When he felt another ring snap around his other back leg, and, a second later, another around his opposite front leg, he roared, beating down massive amounts of men with his tail and flailing his free leg.

      In another minute there were ten men hanging from his tail with a couple of shackles to restrain it, and while he tried to shake them off he felt a ring being fastened around his previously free leg. Screaming in rage he threw himself to the ground, but not before the hunters on his tail had secured three manacles to it.

      At last Zrathem stretched his wings, his last line of defence, breathing fire all around him, burning more and more men as they rushed at him. Suddenly his screams of rage changed, to screams of agony. They had pierced the soft skin between the bones of his wings and now had a shackle attached to one of them.

      Time slowed down in his hurt, and Zrathem considered giving up, and letting them shackle his other wing and drag him back to their homes. Finally, he made the decision that they would take his body down, but not his pride. Not his self-respect. Zrathem would go down with dignity.

      The dragon’s vast silver body, coated in his shining silver scales, rose up to the extent the manacles would allow, and he stretched his neck up and blew the hottest, most fiery breath he could muster and hunters went down. Then Zrathem went down screaming in pain as he felt his other wing being pierced and a manacle attached to it. He swayed, and saw the hunters through his blurring vision, running and the enormous silver dragon crashed to the ground, unconscious.





****





When he woke, he had a thick iron ring around his neck, attached to his back legs via a heavy chain. His front legs were likewise shackled and joined to the chain on his back legs and neck near the middle. Much to the dragon’s disgust, his whole body was chained up the same way, including his muzzle.

      Try as he might, Zrathem couldn’t break the chains with sheer strength, and he couldn’t melt them because his mouth was shut tight. Studying his surroundings, Zrathem saw he was in a dank cell, probably in the lower floors of some important human's castle. The bars, he saw, were made much like his collar, and so, naturally, when he tried to break his way out of it, the attempt was futile. So, Zrathem resigned himself to sleeping in the corner and did just that.



      When Zrathem next awoke, it was to the sound of a small voice coming from the darkness behind the bars of his imprisoning cell.

      ‘Mr. Dragon?’ came the whisper.

      Remembering he couldn’t open his mouth, he warily crawled to the bars of his prison. Zrathem was surprised to see a young girl, about eight, he guessed, squatting at the bars of his cell.

      ‘H-hello,’ she stammered. ‘Y-you won’t hurt me w-will you? I mean, if I l-let you out, I mean,’ the girl continued.

      The dragon thought about this, and finally, unable to talk, tentatively reached through the bars and rested his big paw on the girl’s shoulder. In turn she hesitantly reached through the bars and turned the key in the lock of the shackle around his nose. When she quietly rested it on the floor, he gratefully stretched his jaw and whispered ‘Thank you, I’ll take that to mean you would like to help me -But first, where did you get the keys?’ he asked, fearing treachery.

      'I'm the daughter of the Baron of th-the Prison Squad. I hate it here.' A hint of scorn entered her voice, 'The guards let me through, b-because they don't think I'm capable of harming anything.'

      Zrathem understood, and replied, 'Alright. I believe you. Now let's go, I'm itching to fly!'

      That got a shaky smile from the girl and she nodded her agreement. Crawling over to the cell door she raised herself up on her knees and rotated the key in the lock on the door. When she finished fiddling with the door, it swung open and Zrathem struggled over to the opening and let her unlock all the shackles spread over his body. When she'd done, he held a paw in front of his mouth to signify silence and she seemed to understand, nodding her assent.

      Slowly, so he wouldn’t alarm her, he lifted the small girl onto his back and set off down the dark, musty corridor. Zrathem was searching for guards and was beginning to think these humans were absolute imbeciles when he came across one guard standing at his post in front of the double doors leading out of the castle. Assessing the situation, Zrathem decided he couldn’t go around him and set the girl on the floor, quietly telling her to stay here while he dealt with the guard.

      When she agreed, he returned to the lone guard and seemingly lunging out of nowhere, grabbed the man’s throat and snapped his neck, quietly laying him on the floor. Motioning for the girl to come, he lifted her back onto his back and pushed the big oak doors outward, and ignored the pangs of pain as he soared into the night on his half healed wings. Dragons were renowned for their fast healing.

      Looking back at the girl he asked, ‘What’s your name?’

      She smiled and told him her name was Lilie.

      ‘That’s a nice name,’ Zrathem replied. ‘One more thing – would you like to come and stay with me?’

      Lilie could only grin.







THE END