Those Damn Dragoms!

Those Damn Dragons!

The sun had risen over the Kingdom of Corania. Clear sunlight bathed the land, rural and urban alike relishing the warmth and peace of the sunny day. Comfortable towns sat quietly between rolling hills, herds of cows and sheep roaming the uninhibited countryside. Like a shining beacon, the city of Thessal rose above the rest of the land, its buildings sprawling down the hillside like an organised rock fall. Perched on the very top of the hill, surrounded by its own fields, was a proud castle, home of the ruler of Corania - King Mordraed. 

Currently the esteemed ruler was whiling away his time in his throne room, peering intently at something he was holding in his hands.
         “Sire! Sire!” The King's personal guards burst into the room in a mad panic, flinging the door wide open. King Mordraed looked up from polishing his crown.
         “What? What is it?!” He asked, coming to his feet as the guards stopped, gasping, before him.
         “Sire! The dragons! The dragons of old! They are attacking!” The King regarded his two finest men with surprise. They were both pale and trembling, obviously shaken by the tidings they brought.
         “The dragons are attacking?” King Mordraed asked.
         “Yes sire.” The guards nodded.
         “Attacking here?”
         “Yes sire.” The guards said.
         “My Kingdom?”
         “Yes, sire.”
         “My beloved Kingdom?”
         “Yes sire.”
         “Now?”
         “Yes.
         “Right now?
         “Yes.”
         “At this very minute, dragons are attacking my Kingdom?”
         “Yes!” The King paused. He thrust on his crown and puffed out his chest.
         “Then something must be done about it!” He stormed out of the throne room leaving the anxious guards alone with their fears.

King Mordraed stomped his way down the corridor, his angry footsteps silenced by the thick red carpet. He wove a complex path through the castle, crossing room after room, pacing endless corridors and traversing many stairs, meeting countless castle staff - guards, doormen, maids and messengers, until he reached the tower-top door he was looking for. There was nothing particularly special about the door, its plain wood and simple handle belied the intelligence and character of the man who dwelt beyond. The doorman knocked on the dark surface, and opened the door, letting the King sweep through, his cloak billowing in an angry and important way.

         The sole resident of the room looked up as he entered. Big round glasses reflected the lantern light, giving him eerie bright eyes. His bald head accentuated the 'mad genius' look, but his voice was pleasant and smooth as he greeted the King.
         "What can I do for you sire?" He asked. The King glanced around the room. Shelves and shelves of books lined the room, interspersed with cupboards and drawers containing the scribe's tools and materials. One window should have added to the lantern light, but it was shut to prevent damage to the books. The scribe would have had the window blocked up completely, but he needed it to be able to communicate with the outside world. Bolted to the outer wall of his tower were two wide pipes, each with a pulley system - one for outgoing messages, one for incoming ones. The King noted this then spoke.
         "I assume you've heard about the dragons Tharide?" The scribe nodded and swept a hand to emphasise the stack of books and papers on his desk.
         "I have sire, I have been expecting you, but I can't find anything of importance yet. There are many books on dragons, but no clue as to how to get rid of them." As was his way, Tharide’s attention drew back to the open book below him, quill in hand to note any discoveries. The King slumped down onto the chair in front of the desk, picked up a book, and started to read.

An hour later there was another knock on the door. Two guards entered, finding the King sitting frowning at the parchment-covered table. “Have you found it yet?” He asked impatiently.
         “Nearly, nearly. Almost got it. Ah ha! Yes, here it is!” Tharide emerged from a tall cupboard waving a scroll. He sat down and read aloud:
                   
“Legend number 231:
If ever thy Kyngdom of Corania doth fynd itself under thine deathly threat of Dragons then it neede not be hopeless. A hero, a proud man of huge stature, strong and brave, shalt be found in the City of Thessal. He alone doth possess thy strength and courage to rid thy Kyngdom of its peryl. This man, whomsoever he maye be, is an only childe, last in a long lyne of noble men, all whom have served thy Kyng welle. He can be found, this great doer, tending to thine beasts of thy Lord. His hair shalt be black, his eyes blue, and his name strong. Go looking for this man when the Dragons strike - ye shalt know him when ye doth find him - and he will solve thy Kyngdoms fayte..”

“Hey, that sounds like old Olaf the smith!” One of the guards said. He turned to his friend and colleague, “What do you reckon Criol?” He turned back to the King. “Sire, do you want us to fetch Olaf?”
         “Hang on Phrais,” said the King, “Olaf only moved here two years ago. Yes he has served me well, looks the part and no doubt come from a long line of proud men, but none of his family has served me in the past.”
         “Besides,” said the scribe, “I heard he died from a heart attack three days ago.”
         “We’re doomed.” Criol muttered, ever the quiet pessimist.
         “What can we do then?” Phrais asked.
         “We can go and look.” Said Tharide. “There must be someone in this Kingdom who fits the bill.” The three men in the room looked at him in shock. No one had known of Tharide leaving his tower, ever. There were even myths surrounding this behaviour. Some said he would die if he ever was in full sun, some said he had been cursed y a witch to remain here for all eternity, others said he would melt at lower altitudes. All were wrong - Tharide just liked his books, and didn't care much for the goings-on of the real  world. Unless, of course, something really important came up. The books were closed and filed carefully, the legend copied out, and the original placed lovingly back in its cupboard. He regarded his King and the guards. "Let's start looking now, shall we?" Mordraed nodded.
         “Well said.” The King rose to his feet. “There must be someone. And the legends aren’t always spot-on anyway. We’ll find someone who fits the bill enough.” The quartet left the room, and began the search for their Kingdom’s hero.

         The rest of the day was spent wandering through the streets of Thessal, visiting key workers, and putting out the word for suitable candidates. Despite the situation, the King enjoyed this little trip. It was good to get back out on the streets again, back to where he had grown up as a boy, before he had joined the guard and been elected as King. The conversation they had as they walked was as much about recent goings on, family questions and general chat, as it was about their quest. The hours passed, twilight fell, and the group returned to the castle to gather in the King's private dining room for dinner and discussion.
         King Mordraed slumped in a chair and let out a sigh of annoyance. “No-one! No-one at all!”
         “We mustn’t give up hope my lord, there could still be someone.” Said Tharide, carefully arranging himself at the table.
         “Hah!” The King took off his crown and dumped it on the ground as the two guards seated themselves last, as was the order of seating.
         “Oh, don’t despair sire.” Phrais said. “I thought that quite a few of the people today were good hopefuls. Like Granib the beet farmer and Myrd the Haymaker. That piper-man looked good, and Jhids the mouse feeder.”
         “They’re no good, none of them had the right hair colour.” Tharide said.
         “Then how about Hrara, Ferd, Blinb, or one of the other ground sowers?” Asked Phrais.
         “No, none of them are from around here.” Said Criol.
         “And anyway,” The King said, looking up from the table surface. “The legend said that we’d know when we found him, and none of them gave me any such feelings. There’s no hope.”
         “Oh my lord. There has to be someone, maybe not a person who is exactly right, but the legend said there would be someone, and someone there shall be.” Tharide said, trying to offer some hope. The door was discreetly rapped, and a messenger entered, offering a note to the King. Thick brows furrowed as his regal eyes scanned the words. He sighed and passed the note round the table. It wasn't good news. There were more dragons. They had doubled in numbers since that morning, and seemed to have no intention on not burning and eating everything in sight.
         “I wish I had your optimism, Tharide.” Mordraed said. “But whoever this mystery person is, we didn't find him and we searched the whole town. These dragons are starting to cause serious damage.”
         “Then we continue the search tomorrow. We can venture further afield.” Said Tharide. After some mild shock at the thought of Tharide on a horse, the group’s spirits lifted somewhat.

         The next morning King Mordraed and his guards were up early. They were silent on the way to the stables, all quietly worried they wouldn’t find the hero. Bright sun shone, making the day seem cheerful and bright and there was a lingering feeling in the air that something important was going to happen.
         “My lord!” Tharide the scribe came running down the path. The trio stopped and turned at his call. “A letter came for you this morning. It’s from the Duke of Haflorn. He wants to know what is being done about the dragons!” He came up beside the King and they continued to walk to the stable-yard.
         “Can we not delay him a bit until we have found our hero?” Asked the King.
         “No, I’m afraid not my lord, he asks for a fast reply as his city is next in line in the path of the dragons.”
         “Those damn dragons!” The King exclaimed as they reached the yard. A young stable lad hurried out to meet them. “Is there no way that we can –“ He suddenly stopped and gasped.
         “What is it sire?” Phrais asked, unsheathing his sword.
         “Oh no.” Said the King.
         “Sire?” Criol looked around, suddenly scared. The stable lad halted when he saw the weapons.
         “Um? Your highness?” He called. “Is everything alright? Flakoray is all saddled up and ready to go.”
         “This can’t be.” The King said. He turned to Tharide. “Do you feel it too?” Tharide nodded, horror in his eyes. The guards turned their gaze to where the King and Tharide were staring.
         “Your highness?” The skinny lad looked worried. He shuffled nervously, not liking the sudden attention he was getting. “Is there something wrong?” The King laughed suddenly, then shook his head. Tharide stepped forward and put his hands on the lads’ shoulders.
         “Young man.” He said. He cleared his throat and looked into the boy’s eyes. “How long have you been serving here?”
         “Um, since I was a child sir. My dad did this job, and his dad, and his dad, and, well, I think all of my family have worked here.”
         “And do you have any brothers or sisters?” Tharide asked.
         “N-no sir, I’m an only child.” The lad looked terrified.
         “Black hair, blue eyes.” The King breathed, staring at the mop of dark curls and pale eyes peering from beneath it
         “What is your name lad?” Asked the scribe.
         “G-Grandollus.” He coughed pathetically.
         “That, that’s a good strong name lad.” Tharide said.
         “Is anything wrong? Am I in trouble?” Grandollus asked, glancing at the King’s disbelieving expression.
         “No, nothing’s the matter. In fact, things are pretty good, I think. I don’t think the King will be able to ride this morning; he has some matters to attend to. I wonder if you would mind accompanying us back to the castle?” Tharide asked.
         “No, that would be an honour.” Grandollus said. “I will just go and tell Mern the stable master.” The lad skittered back off to the stables and Tharide went over to the King.
         “I think we found him my lord.” He said, gently shaking Mordraed. The King ran his hands through his hair, took a deep breath and laughed bitterly.
         “Hah! I know the legends aren’t spot-on, but what a joke! Strong and brave? This lad couldn’t fight a mouse!”
         “That may be lord, but the legend said he’d get rid of the dragons, and that is what we must believe.” The King snorted. Grandollus came back, brushing straw off of his oversized tunic, looking innocent and slightly worried.

         Back in the castle Tharide told Grandollus about the legend and about what he had to do.
         “No!” He cried, and fell backwards into the arms of Criol in a dead faint.
         “I don’t think he took it very well.” The King said sarcastically.
         “He’ll be alright.” Tharide said. “Look, he’s coming round. Are you Ok lad?”
         “Mmlrff.” Grandollus mumbled, and slumped once more.
         “I think he needs a little more time to adjust.” Phrais said, “It must be quite a shock.”
         “Indeed.” Mordraed said. “Get me when he’s not being such a flower, I’m going to see the messengers.” He swept out of the room and down to the courtyard where the messenger lads came and went. “What news about the dragons?” He called to Jasti the message keeper.
         “Nothing good sir,” Jasti said, handing over the most recent massage.
         “Oh damn.” Mordraed said, reading. “They’ve razed Frenelt, Vanc and are now moving on to Weren. How many people have been killed?”
         “At least a thousand, sir, and no dragons have been had yet.”
         “None at all?” He asked. Jasti shook his head.
         “Something needs to be done pretty soon, if I may say so sir. A hero or something. What do the legends say?”
         “Never mind the legends, we’ve found our hero.” Mordraed said. Jasti’s eyes brightened. “Don’t get your hopes up man, he’s a pathetic little thing. Grandollus from the stables.”
         “You’re joking!” Jasti cried. “Not the boy that has that little pony?” Mordraed nodded. “It’s worse than I thought then.”
         “I’m afraid so.” He turned as Tharide came into the courtyard. Tharide noted the King’s grim look and guessed what they were talking about.
         “Don’t give up on the lad!” Tharide called, walking over to them. “He’s small I know, but he must be strong to be working with the horses, carting around hay and water all day. With a little training I’m sure he’d be a dab hand with a sword!”
         “I don’t think it’ll be that easy.” Jasti said. “That boy does nothing all day apart from pet his pony. He’s a disgrace.”
         “Oh come now, there’s no need to be nasty. He’s bound to be a fine fighter.”
         Jasti and the king laughed. “You seem to have boundless hope Tharide.” Said the King, “But that boy had better learn quick, these dragons are wiping out my people faster than I ever thought possible!” He handed Tharide the letter.
         “That’s not good.” Tharide said, reading. “I’ll get the sword master now, the sooner the better!” He gave the letter back and rushed off to the armoury.
         “Good luck with the lad, sir.” Jasti said as the King followed slowly behind, reluctant despair emanating from him.

         When King Mordraed arrived, he found Klimk the sword master trying desperately to teach Grandollus how to fight.
         “No no, hold it in both hands if you have to, then bring it around and up and – no no no! What is wrong with you boy?! Around and up! Stop dropping it! Take a firm hold. Now, swing back, and around – watch out!!” There was the sound of metal clanging on stone and the sword slid noisily to a halt at Mordraed’s feet. He raised his eyebrows.
         “So how’s it going?” He asked.
         “The boy is an imbecile! He can’t even hold the sword properly!” Klimk seemed at the height of frustration.
         “Oh come now,” Tharide said. “You just need a little practice, don’t you my boy?” Grandolls just stood there weeping. The two guards stood beside the door not knowing whether to laugh or cry. “Perhaps we’ll practice with the bow next. The sword may just not be his thing.” The master archer was called and a target was set up.
         “Perhaps we shouldn’t be doing this inside?” The king said.
         “No no, we’ll be alright.” Tharide said. He turned his attention to the wary master archer. “ Now then Fermade, this boy hasn’t used a bow before. Please be kind, he’s a little sensitive.”
         “Right then boy. I’ll demonstrate. You stand like this, take your bow and arrow, aim, and let fly.” He sent an arrow straight into the heart of the target with a sharp ‘thunk’. Grandollus gasped and swooned. Tharide rushed to hold him upright and glanced looked at the King.
         “This may take some time my lord.” He said, smiling sheepishly. Mordraed scowled and walked out.

         That afternoon archers were sent out to help defend Weren. The King went to the gate to see them off and survey the troops, accompanied by Jasti.
         “Do you think they’ll be able to help?” Jasti asked Mordraed.
         “I hope so. We need all the man power there is against the dragons, I don’t think our ‘hero’ is going to be any help.” The King said.
         “How is the boy doing?” Jasti asked.
         “Don’t even mention him.” Mordraed said. “He’s worse than you said. He kept dropping the sword and fainted when Fermande demonstrated archery!” Jasti laughed.
         “But if you believe the legend then the boy must be of some use. Maybe he’s good with magic?”
         “That’s what they’re trying him with now.” Mordraed said. There was a muffled boom in the distance. The company turned and saw purple smoke billowing out of one of the castle towers. Some of the men sniggered while Mordraed just looked angry. “Keep moving men!” He yelled. They watched until the troops were out of sight, and then he sighed. “I hope the dragons aren’t as bad as people say, or we might just be doomed.” He said.
         “Have some faith, the legends have never been totally wrong. Anyway, our men are tough, they should hold off the dragons alright.” Jasti said. “But there’s no point in worrying now, all we can do is wait for news of how the defence went.” Jasti and Mordraed went back into the castle and waited for news from Weren.
         Five hours later, and the King and Jasti were chatting comfortably in the Kings’ chambers like the old friends that they were. There was a knock on the door. A guard entered, announced that a messenger had arrived from Weren and led them to the courtyard. They were all hoping for good news.
         They arrived to a strange scene – a ring of people were gathered around what looked like a ball of clothes. As they watched, they realised that the ball was shaking. The king cleared his throat. At the noise, the ball squeaked and crunched up tighter.
         “Is this the messenger?” The king asked. One of the guards nodded. “What’s wrong with him?”
         “We don’t know sir, he came galloping up on his horse and when it stopped he just fell off, curled up, and has been like that ever since.” The guard said. Jasti approached the man cautiously.
         “Are you all right?” He asked. A pair of eyes appeared amongst the folds of cloth.
         “Are you a dragon?” A feeble voice asked. Some of the people watching stifled laughter.
         “No lad, I’m Jasti, the message keeper of Corania Castle.” Jasti replied. “Have you come from Weren?” The man uncurled a little and nodded, eyes wide with fear. “Do you have a message for us?” An arm protruded from the mans’ clothes and Jasti took the proffered piece of paper. He proceeded to read:

“We have failed. Weren has succumbed to the beasts.
Our men are retreating to Stofe. Thirty of our number died.
Three dragons were killed. The dragons are vulnerable
only in the eyes. Tell the next company to try missiles,
preferably flaming ones.”

         “Flaming missiles, eh?” Said Jasti, “These dragons are tough.”
         “It seems so,” Said the King, “We’ll send out more troops tomorrow, and see how the missile plan goes.”
         “I hope it works better than today.” Jasti said.
         “So do all of us.” Replied Mordraed. “Although I don’t think we’re going to have much of an effect, even with bombardment. I think our hopes really do lie with Grandollus.” He didn’t look too hopeful.
         “Indeed.” Said Jasti. “Speaking of our little hero, I wonder if Tharide has got any further with him.”

         When they got back to the castle, everything was strangely peaceful. Jasti resumed his post and the King walked inside. He went to find Tharide. The scribe was sitting at his table looking bored. He looked up as the king entered.
“Good evening sir. Any news of Weren?” He asked.
         “The town fell to the dragons.” Tharide looked aghast. “Not many people died, thankfully,” Said Mordraed, “And we think we’ve found a way of killing the beasts.”
         “You don’t sound convinced.” Tharide said.
         “Hah! Neither would you.” Tharide raised his eyebrows in question. “The message from Weren said to try flaming missiles!” The King slumped opposite Tharide. “It’s a dodgy plan, at the least. How is the boy getting on? He seems to be our only hope of salvation at this point.”
         “I was afraid you’d ask.” Said Tharide, “We tried all afternoon, but he can’t grasp anything. The sword and archery were disasters, so was the magic, as you may have heard.” Mordraed nodded darkly. “Knife throwing was also useless, he can’t understand catapults, he was terrified of the spears, axes and maces, and we can’t even get him to hold a shield properly! The legend must have made a mistake, there is no way this boy can be our saviour!”
         “Where is he now?” Mordraed asked.
         “We sent him back to the stables, there’s no point him being here.” Mordraed sighed.
         “I guess it was a false hope.” He said. He bade goodnight to Tharide and made his way to his quarters. They could do nothing but wait until morning.

         The next day was overcast and miserable. The mood of the King wasn’t much better. In the early hours a messenger had ridden up, his horse exhausted from the ride. He was sent straight to the King’s chamber.
         “My lord! Bad news from Isten. The dragons attacked yesterday and wiped out the town. Nothing is left but rubble and bodies!” The messenger eagerly accepted the drink offered to him. “But the dragons my lord, they’re not as they were. They attacked with such a fury! And then a monstrous beast of a dragon, seeming to be a queen of dragons, appeared. She is thrice the size of the others, her fire more deadly, and not even flaming missiles halted her!”
         “I thought it was a futile plan.” The King said.
         “Oh no, my lord, the missiles work brilliantly against the other dragons, just not against the huge one.”
         “At least that’s something to go on. But this queen, nothing will stop her?”
         “No my lord, nothing. We tried everything, but she burnt the town to the ground.”
         “Alright, thank you. Tharide?!”
         “Yes my lord?” The scribe came shuffling in, stifling a yawn.
         “Today we get Grandollus back. There must be some way he can help!”

         In the morning, Phrais and Criol were sent to get Grandollus. They appeared over the brow of the hill approaching the castle an hour later; one with Grandollus slumped in his arms, and the other being trailed by a small white pony.
         “What happened?!” Tharide cried, rushing out to meet them.
         “He wouldn’t come willingly, I’m afraid.” Criol said.
         “So you knocked him out?” Tharide sounded horrified.
         “No, no, we told him about the threat posed by the dragons, and he just fainted.”  Phrais explained.
         “And why the horse?” The King asked, appearing beside Tharide.
         “It wouldn’t leave Grandollus, it started stamping and running around when Grandollus fainted, and when we walked away it simply jumped out of its paddock and followed us. We couldn’t get it to go away, so here it is.” Criol put Grandollus down and the pony ran up to him, nickering softly. It gently nudged at the boy’s face as he came round. He put his hand up and stroked the pony’s nose, absorbed in his love for the small creature.
         The king walked forwards and helped Grandollus up. “Now boy, we need your help.” Grandollus started to swoon, but Mordraed shook him roughly. The pony stamped its hoof angrily. “Grandollus, I mean this. The dragons are killing my people, destroying my land, and pretty soon they’re going to be here, and they will undoubtedly kill us too.” He shook the boy again. Grandollus struggled out of his grip and ran to the pony’s side.
         “You can’t make me do anything.” He said, trying to sound authoritative. “I’m no warrior or wizard, I can’t fight the dragons.” He turned pale at the thought of this. “You must have the wrong person.” He started to weep and hugged his pony’s neck.
         There was silence for a minute. Grandollus continued to cry into the pony’s mane while Mordraed, Tharide and the two guards stood staring. They all felt totally helpless. There was no way that they could get to boy to fight, they all knew that, but Mordraed was certain that Grandollus was their only hope. If only they knew how he could help them.
         They slowly became aware of a heavy flapping sound somewhere out of sight below the brow of the hill. Grandollus was the only one who hadn’t seemed to notice, he was still sobbing gently. The flapping sound grew louder and Mordraed lowered his head. ‘This is it.’ He thought. ‘The dragons are here.’ He looked up as a dragon rose over the hill and his breath caught in his throat. It was huge.
         The Queen dragon towered over them all, its massive bulk being supported by giant wings that flapped powerfully. Behind it, thousands of smaller dragons were hovering, ready for the attack. Its huge claws dug into the ground as it landed heavily behind Grandollus and his pony, causing the boy to look up. He saw the faces of the King and his men and slowly turned round. The dragon breathed heavily, acrid breath stinging their eyes. Its tail slowly snaked across the ground as it looked at Grandollus. He swallowed and slowly backed away, tugging at his horse as he did so. It too, had finally noticed the dragon, but instead of backing away, it moved forwards, lowering its head and scraping at the ground threateningly. The dragon seemed slightly amused at this sign of aggression and watched interestedly as the pony got closer.
         The tiny pony suddenly ran forwards and head butted the dragon in the chest. There was a dull thud as it made impact, and then bounced off backwards. The dragon snorted angrily, belching smoke from its nostrils. The pony reared up and lashed out with its front feet. Grandollus made a whimpering sound and the rest of them just stood and watched. The dragon made a growling sound as the pony lashed out again. It opened its mouth, and as the pony ran at it one last time, the dragon simply grasped it in its jaws and threw it into the air. The pony squealed as it flew in a graceful arc into the dragon’s mouth and was swallowed with a gulp.
         The king flinched at the sight, then looked at Grandollus to mark his reaction. Phrais and Tharide did the same. Instead of seeing the boy slumped on the ground as they were used to, he was standing staring at the dragon. His chest was heaving as he clenched and unclenched his fists at his side. The dragon had a satisfied look of its face as it eyed him. Mordraed thought he could hear the boy growling. Suddenly Grandollus turned and ran towards the king. Mordraed was about to stop him, thinking he was trying to escape, but instead of passing him, Grandollus snatched the King’s sword from its sheath and turned back towards the dragon.
         All Mordraed could do was watch as Grandollus sped to his death, brandishing the heavy sword. He started to turn away as the dragon lunged for the boy, but Grandollus dodged the snapping jaws and carried on towards the bulk of the dragon. Mordraeds eyes widened, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The boy who, the day before, had fainted at the sound of the word dragon, was running at the queen of dragons, obviously intent on killing it. The thought was preposterous, flaming missiles hadn’t even scratched this beast. Yet as he watched, Grandollus reached the dragon’s chest, drew his arms backwards, and thrust the sword into the massive beast, piercing its heart.
         The dragon seemed as surprised as the king was. It looked down as dark green blood oozed out of its chest. A puzzled and angry looked crossed its face as it realised what had just happened. It coughed, just once, then noisily slumped sideways. As the dragon released its dying breath Grandollus fell to his knees, head in his hands. No one else could move for shock. The audience of dragons began to fly away aimlessly, lost without a leader.
         Finally, Mordraed approached Grandollus, and was about to speak when the dragon jerked. The King took a cautious step back. A bulge appeared in the dragons’ neck and worked its way slowly up the throat. The dragon’s mouth gradually opened and Mordraed stared in amazement as Grandollus’s pony stumbled out. It nickered weakly. Grandollus took his head out of his hands and gasped. He rose to his feet and flung his arms around the sticky pony, letting out a cry of relief. Tharide and Mordraed stood, speechless.
         A few minutes passed then Mordraed broke the silence.
         “Well,” He said. Tharide looked at him. “That’s that then.”