The Dragon Skin Coat

The Dragon Skin Coat

Jonathan's wife fell to her knees, screaming. "Noooooooooo!" She continued screaming and weeping into the hem of her dress.

It was time.

His best friend, Beltor, clapped him on the shoulder, causing the enormous weight of the coat to shift on Jonathan's shoulders. "Go well, my friend. I'll take care of Nada until you return." Beltor turned away, to hide the tears glimmering in his eyes. They fought many battles together, side by side, but this was one battle Jonathan had to do alone.

Jonathan swallowed roughly and nodded. It was time to enter the dragon's lair and attempt to kill the beast. The animal had been tormenting his village for the last seven years, coming out every few seasons to burn and destroy the meager huts the villagers managed to erect.

Urgent messages were sent to the king after the first attack. King Raindor did what he could and sent his best knights to dispatch the dragon. The knights arrived, thundering into the village on their huge glossy steeds, armored and ready to fight. Summarily, the dragon toasted the knights one by one. Armor did nothing against the roaring flames of the beast. Most of the village people fled after the dragon flew over with the last remaining knight, dropping what was left of his torso in the village square. The carnage lay in the square for days, vultures picking at the entrails, until someone finally carted it off for burial.

A few stayed, hoping the dragon would move on to better hunting grounds. It was while one of the remaining peasants was out foraging for what little food could be found, that he came across the dragon skin. The dragon had shed the skin, dropping it just below his cliffside lair. The villager dragged the skin back, hoping to examine the skin for a weakness. A place a sword could get through to kill it. No such opening was discovered.

The village tailor had a better idea. If the skin protected the dragon, wouldn't it protect a man as well? So in agreement with the men left in the village, the coat was fashioned to fit the most brawn man left. Jonathan was that man. So now he stood, ready to enter the dragon's lair wearing the skin of the dragon, in hopes of killing the beast. He bent, kissing his wife's sodden face and then turned to climb to the putrid cave. Most of the men who escorted Jonathan to the cliff ran for the woods. Beltor dragged Jonathan's wife to safety as Jonathan climbed to the entrance.

He crouched there, waiting for the enraged flames to surround him.

Nothing happened.

He could see the sleeping form of the large dragon, so he crept closer. So close, he could see the individual glistening scales on the dragon's head, the small tendrils of smoke rising from his nostrils. The coat was working! The dragon couldn't smell the man, covered by the dragon's own skin.

At that moment, the dragon sensed Jonathan. The beast's eyes slowly opened, their golden depths connecting with the man's eyes. For a split moment, they met, two warriors knowing only one would survive this battle. The beast rose, breathing fire down on the man who crouched with the coat gathered around him. The heat was extreme and nearly unbearable. Jonathan's lungs burned in the seared air. His hair and beard singed and melted on his head. The flames swirled around, charring the floor of the cave and sending ash drifting like snow through the scorched air. The coat held true.

The dragon drew another breath. That was the moment Jonathan was waiting for. All it took was a single moment of vulnerability. Quickly, he jerked his sword from the scabbard. Gripping it with both fists, he raised it and charged the beast. With a fierce shout, he ran toward the animal. The dragon swung his head lower to get a better look at the tiny man invading his lair. Jonathan drove the sword down through the dragon's eye. The dragon screamed and bashed his head from side to side in the cave, trying to dislodge the sword. Jonathan pressed against the side of the cave, trying to avoid being crushed. Blood flew as the animal writhed in agony. Then, with a shudder, the dragon slumped and was dead.

When he could detect no life, Jonathan dislodged and drew back the sword, dripping in viscid fluid and waited for any sign of movement. Then he buried his sword in the earth floor of the cave. He stumbled, coughing, to the opening and fresh, cool air. He heard Beltor's great shout of victory as he knelt to regain his strength. He thanked the gods for his safety and the little tailor with the big idea.

During the festive village celebration, Jonathan never smiled. He now understood how his own warrior's death would come; in a great battle of two matched opponents, where only one would survive.