Chapter Ten

*****

Chapter Ten

*****

By the time Mirelle left the Chamber of Law, the sun hung low enough to paint the village in the burnt golden shades of early evening. She fumed as she passed through the gateway in the palisade that surrounded the summit plaza. Things had spiraled from annoying into catastrophic so quickly her head was still spinning. All she’d wanted to do was enforce the old truce to make the damn dragon do his job, and keep their village safe. Now she was stuck with him.

At the edge of the summit, Mirelle stomped down the recently laid stone stairs that lead to one of the village’s main thoroughfares. She’d almost rather let the village burn than spend a single day as that monstrosity’s babysitter. She considered just telling the stupid beast to go home so she could rid of him. Then she brushed the idea aside, scowling. That would letting him win by being so obnoxious he weaseled his way out of his duties. Or would that be wyrmed his way?

“Oh, good one Mirelle.” She smiled at her deft word work.

The moment of levity lifted some of the dark clouds from her mind, but she knew she could not let the dragon shirk his responsibility. There was a growing band of marauders out there burning people’s homes, and they were heading towards her village. Why the rest of the council refused to see that as a looming threat they had to face, she’d never know. They were too set in their ways and too convinced it was someone else’s problem. They didn’t want to commit their own resources, their own men, not when another village could do it for them. Yet the answer was right there in the truce framed and hanging on the wall outside the Chamber of Law. All they had to do was fight fire with fire.

Mirelle smirked. She bet whoever coined that expression hadn’t thought it might someday mean sending a dragon to incinerate a maniacal, pyromaniac urd’thin. Or would that be…Pyromaniacal?

“Oooh, you’re on fire, Mirelle.” She blinked, then clapped her hands. “Hah!”

Mirelle sighed, shaking her head.  At least they’d agreed to let her put the dragon to work. Granted, when she conceived of the idea to conscript him, she never thought she’d be the one stuck telling him what to do. Not that she ever had a problem telling people what to do. Still, she’d expected the job to fall to someone with experience in this sort of thing, like the guards or a knight. Mirelle balled up her fists. She had sudden, sneaking suspicion the council was trying to get both the dragon and their newest member out of their hair.

“You wanted new ideas?” She smacked her fist against her palm, scowling. “Well, you got them now. I’ll shove my new ideas right up your…” She trailed off when she spotted a group of wide-eyed children staring at her. “Holiday…stocking…”

The heady aroma of roasted lamb drew her attention, and made her belly rumble. Mirelle altered course towards a food stall down a side street. She ground her teeth, still infuriated to have been made the dragon’s babysitter. Why had they given her a spot on the council if this was the way they were going to treat her? Granted, they hadn’t invited her aboard to start sending dragons off to fight bandits.

No, they’d brought her up because they’d wanted new views on things like taxes and civil issues to help the growing village thrive. Owning a successful business that employed all types of people and made plenty of money gave her viable opinions on those sort of issues. And the fact she’d spent a lot of time shouting those viable opinions directly at the council during town meetings garnered her plenty of support among the populace.

Mirelle came to a stop in front of the vender. Skewers of lamb hung from overhead racks above wood coals. Droplets of fat and juices ran off them and dripped into the coals, igniting flickering flames that caramelized the outside of the meat. Another rack set away from the fire held more skewers of fully cooked lamb waiting to be sold. The cook, a plump man with short, curly black hair, turned around. He wiped his hands on his greasy apron and gave Mirelle a warm smile.

“Oh, hello Councilwoman! What an honor to have you at my stall. What can I do for you?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with them! I can’t very well worry about protecting people’s equality and fixing our tax problems if we’re all on fire, can I?” Mirelle ground her teeth, fished a few coins out of her pocket and slapped them down on the counter.

“Erm…no?” The cook glanced back at his fire as if expecting to see the flames consuming his stall.

“Exactly!” Mirelle clapped the man on the shoulder. “See, you understand!” She sighed, shook her head, and snatched one of the cooling skewers off its rack. “But noooo, they don’t want to use the dragon, he’s an asshole!”

Mirelle waved the skewer as she strode down the lane, leaving the confused cook behind. “He’s a whirlwind, he’s dangerous!” Sneering her imitation of her fellow councilmembers, Mirelle took a bite of lamb. She chewed it, swallowed, and then snarled. “Of course he’s bloody dangerous, he’s a damn dragon! That’s the point!”

She took another bite of lamb, and this time realized just how wonderful it tasted. She paused to savor it. It was juicy, with a gently seared crust, seasoned with salt and herbs, and kissed with smoke. “Oh, Gods, that’s nice.”

The simple pleasure of good food helped smooth the edge off her anger. By the time Mirelle was finished with the lamb she was nearly to her tavern. She glanced at the empty skewer. It was metal and not the sort of thing she was supposed to take with her. She’d have to find that vendor later and return it. Mirelle didn’t want him to spread word that the newest councilwoman was some sort of skewer-stealing kleptomaniac.

Not that her new title was doing her much good yet. So far she’d participated in exactly two votes and they’d both gone against her. If only those idiots would listen to reason. If they’d listened to her, she wouldn’t have had to make her first official act a violation of their wishes.

She thumped the temporarily stolen skewer against her palm. “Why won’t anyone listen to me!”

“I listen to you, Councilwoman Mirelle.” A skinny, older man leaned out of an alleyway, licking his lips. “I always listen to you.”

“Get stuffed, Leering Pete.”

Mirelle didn’t have time to deal with Leering Pete and his…leering. She had a pub to protect from a dragon. A stupid, ugly, egotistical asshole of a dragon she was now stuck with till…Gods, who knew when. She squeezed the skewer’s handle till her knuckles stood out. “That damn dragon. This is all his fault.”

She stopped, a grimace twisting her face. It wasn’t his fault, was it? She was the one who’d gone out and dragged him into this. He might have smashed up her grandfather’s house, but it was her who decided to use that to force him to help protect the villages. She made her choice and now she had to reap the reward.

Mirelle let out a long sigh. She’d just have to make the best of it. If she could keep the stupid dragon in line, he could get rid of those bandits and then she could cut him loose. And what she wouldn’t give to see the look on old Jekk’s face when she was proven right. She’d savor her victory, and then pray to any God who would listen that she never had to see that stupid dragon again.

When she turned onto the road that led to The Cathedral, she was glad to see its bell tower viewing platform peeking out from the trees. At least the dragon hadn’t burned it down. A dozen or so men in red and blue tabards milled about in front of the iron fence. Another man in a full suite of heavy plate mail stood nearby, gesturing with his arms in awkward, stilted motions. Mirelle picked up her pace, hoping to slip past and reach her beloved tavern before being spotted.

“Councilwoman Mirelle, Sir!”

“What?”

Damn it.

“She’s over there!”

“I did cut my hair, yes, but this is hardly the time to talk about grooming.”

“The councilwoman, Sir!”

“Oh! Thank you lad!” The knight gestured at a signpost. “We await your orders, councilwoman! But do speak up, this new helmet is terribly muffling.”

“She’s over there, Sir.” The guards grabbed his arms and turned him in the right direction.

Mirelle took two steps to the left, waving her hand in front of his face. “I’m right here, Knight Commander Elrind.”

“Right!” The Knight Commander groped in the air till he bumped Mirelle’s head with his gauntleted hand. “So you are. Councilwoman Mirelle. We attempted to bar the dragon’s entry, but were unable to withstand his assault. My deepest apologies.” The knight bent forward, then wobbled as seemed unable to straighten again. His armor clanked and rattled as he jerked his back up a few inches at a time. “Lads! A hand!”

A few other guards came to his aide, pulling him back into an upright position. “Thank you, lads! Now. We have the beast cornered.” He waved his armored arm, and the movement sent him twisting around. He ended up pointing the wrong way, across the street from The Cathedral. “Right here!”

Mirelle put face in her hand. “That’s a shoe store.”

“Yes, I’m sure he does poo more. He’s an awfully big beast!” The knight waved, clanking. “But that’s hardly appropriate.”

Mirelle spoke louder, pointing towards her tavern. “He’s on the other side of the street!”

“Oh, thank you Councilwoman.” The knight lifted an armored boots. “Lads, clean this muck off my feet.”

Mirelle pinched the bridge of her nose. A few of the guards came forward and made a show of polishing the knight’s boots. She noticed bits and pieces of greenery, moss and weeds clinging to his armor. She reached out and plucked some vegetation free. “What is this, grass?”

“I don’t take sass, either.” The knight clenched his armored fist.

“No, grass!”

“Hrrmph?” The knight straightened, reaching behind himself with one hand. “It is? Boggleswash! Lads, close up my armor back here! Thank you, Councilwoman, but you need not use such gutter-slang! Why, tushie works just fine! Now, what are you orders?”

Mirelle had to turn away and shove her fist in her mouth to keep her giggles in check. “I’m…sure you have…everything…in hand, Knight Commander. Just…secure the perimeter. I have to go now.”

“You gave him a cow? You really think it’s wise to be feeding this villainous reptile?”

Mirelle turned around and leaned in to shout into the side of the knight’s helmet. “Secure! The! Perimeter!”

“Ah! Right! That will keep his cow from getting away.” The knight swung his armored arm, and Mirelle had to duck. “You heard her lads! Secure this perimeter!”

“It’s already secure, Sir!”

“What?”

Mirelle shouted again. “Goodbye, Knight Commander.”

The knight turned vaguely in her direction, and bowed again. This time when he bent forward, his weight shifted too far, and he toppled over onto the road face first with a cacophonous clang. “Ah! I’m under attack!” He thrashed against the road, armor clattering. “Lads, to arms!”

Mirelle hurried away before anyone could hoist the knight back to his feet. She jogged down the flagstone lane that lead to her bar, dismayed by the number of paw prints and ruts marking the earth along the path. Several of her outdoor tables and chairs had been knocked aside. At least her stained glass hadn’t been shattered and her carved doors hadn’t been torn off their hinges. She just hoped the inside of her tavern fared better than the outside.

It didn’t.

Almost every table and chair she’d had carved and built by hand just for her pub were piled up at the far end. At least one table and several chairs lay in broken pieces and scattered across a floor now marked with long gouges. Painted light shining through her stained glass glittered on myriad golden puddles. More wetness gleamed along her long bar. A random assortment of pots and pans were strewn about. The smell of spilled ale smothered the air.

Mirelle snarled through grit teeth. It was bad enough that stupid dragon was preventing her from holding dinner service tonight, but he didn’t have to trash the place. At least it looked as though Tavaat and Beka tried to minimize the damage, but where the hell was that walking calamity now? Voices drifting through the open back doors gave her an answer. Mirelle snatched up a heavy iron pan and strode towards the back door.

“Trash my bar, will you?” Mirelle swung the pan. “I’m gonna knock those fancy horns right off your resplendent head!”

Mirelle marched onto her back patio, her anger growing as she passed even more furniture askew and damaged. An entire section of trellis awning had collapsed, and flowing vines now lay across the rest of the patio in twisting strands. She squeezed the handle of her pan, and kicked open the back gate, half hanging off its hinges. She followed paw prints in the grass and the sound of voices towards the wall of pines that separated her tavern from her private grounds. Stands of ancient ferns as tall as she was grew between the trees. It was difficult to see just what was happening past the trees and ferns, but she caught flashes of green and copper scales in the distance.

“You can’t be serious!” Beka’s laughter, happy and lilting, rang out from beyond the pines.

“Right there in front of you?” Tavaat’s laughter was louder, slightly growling.

“Yes, I’m serious! Right in front of me!” The dragon’s cackle hurt her ears.

“And you just…watched?!” Beka sounded incredulous about something.

“I’d never seen gryphons do that before!” There was a splashing noise, and then more cackles. “Wouldn’t you have watched?”

“Certainly not!”

Tavaat growled his disagreement. “Beka would stare.”

“I would not! I might…peek. But that’s it. Oh! I think I missed a spot, lower your head again.”

What the hell was going on? Mirelle furrowed her brow. The splashing noise made her wonder if the stupid dragon had decided to ruin her springs the way he’d ruined half her furniture. Beyond the pine trees were the grounds her family’s original tavern had been built, located near several small but beautiful springs. She’d even had a few pumps built to take advantage of them.

After Mirelle sold her house to finance the Cathedral, she’d moved into the older bar and eventually turned it into her new home. She had gardens back there to help grow fruits, vegetables and herbs to help supplement The Cathedral’s kitchen. Situated near the older building was the blue-painted covered wagon her parents had traveled in before they settled in the village after she was born. Her earliest memories were of that wagon, and Mirelle could never bear to part with it. She kept it in good shape, and used it as both decorative showpiece and occasional guest cottage of sorts.

Better not have damaged my wagon.

With her pan hoisted, Mirelle followed the paw prints around the side of the pine copse. She was glad he hadn’t trampled her ferns and gouged her trees, at least. But she was still ready to smack the smugness right out of the damn dragon’s head the moment he so much as smirked at her. Then, she’d demand he go find his hoard and bring back treasure enough to pay for all his damages. At least, assuming he had a hoard. Well, he was about to get a frying pan upside the snout either way.

The moment Mirelle saw the dragon, she nearly dropped her pan. Revaramek sat on his haunches alongside one of her spring fed pools, with soapy froth covering the top half of his body. It ran down his scales in foamy rivulets. A bubbly dollop of it sat atop his head between his black horns like a ridiculous chef’s hat. Beka and Tavaat were there with him, and both her friends had just as much soap covering them as the dragon did. Buckets filled with soap and water sat all around them. Mugs and other drinking vessels were strewn about.

But it wasn’t the ridiculousness of the scene that caught her so off guard. It was the sheer, simple, drunken joy etched on everyone’s face. Beka’s eyes were wide and shining as she giggled up a storm at whatever perverse anecdote the dragon was telling. Tavaat’s many sharp teeth were all bared in gleeful grimace, his small frills all displayed as he laughed. And the dragon was…

Happy.

It struck Mirelle that this was the first time she’d actually seen Revaramek happy. Not smug, or arrogant or angry, or amused by her own aggravation, but actually happy. The dragon’s bronze eyes glowed as he gazed back and forth between Beka and Tavaat, and an immense smile parted his muzzle. He looked as though he was overjoyed just to find someone who actually enjoyed his company.

“So shall I tell another, or not?” The dragon arched his neck, gesturing with a paw.

“Oh, please!” Beka dunked her cloth in a bucket, and then went right back to scrubbing at the dragon’s soapy scales.

Tavaat scooped foam off the dragon’s scales, and deposited it on Beka’s head. “What was that one you mentioned earlier? When she offered to help you wash?”

“Ah, yes! That’s a good one.” The dragon rubbed his forepaws together. Foamy water dripped from them onto the moss around the spring. “One of my favorites, in fact.”

“Tell it then!” Beka bounced on the balls of her feet, then elbowed Tavaat in the ribs when he tried to put more soap on head. “You can’t tease us and then not tell it.”

“Alright!” Glee bubbled in Revaramek’s voice, and he clapped his forepaws a few times.

Mirelle stared. He was actually having fun with her friends. They were having fun with him. She didn’t know what dark magic the dragon most have woven over her two best comrades, but they looked like they were having the time of their lives. Hell, the dragon himself seemed so damn excited to be telling them his stupid stories it was like he was in some children’s tale, and had just discovered the magic of friendship or some other nonsense.

Actually, she wondered.

He’s worthless! Jekk’s voice echoed, unbidden, through her mind.

The truce had been in place for decades, at least. Before that he used to make maidens pay him visits, but since then…surely, she wasn’t the first person to actually go out there and meet with him in all that time, was she?

He’s an asshole!

He’s a godsdamned whirlwind!

Even if she was, there were always other dragons for him and go and visit, weren’t there?

Weren’t there?

Mirelle glanced at the sky as if expecting to see his kin swooping in. But the sky was empty, barren even of clouds. Come to think of it, he was the only dragon in the area she knew of. And the truce…Mirelle scrunched her face. It bound him to stay here, to protect them in their times of need.

With her free hand, Mirelle pinched the bridge of her nose. No, she wasn’t going to do it. She wasn’t going to allow herself to feel any sympathy for this wicked creature. He’d brought his isolation on himself with his own actions, with his own attempts to conquer everything he set his eyes upon. It was his fault.

Wasn’t it?

They should have taken his damn head off.

Jekk’s voice in her head made her wince. Sure, the dragon was an egomaniac, but he wasn’t…well…he didn’t deserve to die, did he?

“Alright, so.” Revaramek thrust his soapy paw through the air, splattering Beka and Tavaat. “There’s this dragon, see? In a dungeon.”

Beka walked around the other side of the dragon, scrubbing under his foreleg. “Wait, I’m not sure I wanna hear this if it’s that kind of story.”

“She definitely wants to hear it!” Tavaat laughed, and when Beka stuck her tongue out, he threw a soapy cloth at her.

“No, no, no, it’s not that kind of tale.” Revaramek glanced back and forth between them, smiling. “Or that kind of dungeon. The dragon is a prisoner, you see. Though…the first part does have a very bawdy ending. But we can skip that bit, if you prefer.”

“First part?” Beka wrung out her cloth. “How long is this story?”

“Ah, this is the longest tale I know. So long, in fact, I could never tell it all in one night.” He lifted his head, his voice softening. “But perhaps…if you like it, I could tell you more tomorrow, and again the next night. Only if you want, of course.”

“Of course I want!” Beka slapped his scaly haunch with her cloth, laughing. “That first story was delightful!”

“Excellent!” The dragon rubbed his forepaws again, shaking his wings. “I so rarely get to spin tales, I do hope I’m not bad at it.”

“Oh, no, you’re wonderful at it!”

Mirelle’s jaw dropped. They liked him? He liked them? He wanted to tell them stories? It was like when he grew angry and spat fire at the sky and she finally saw something resplendent in him. If he’d acted friendly from the start, told her he enjoyed the telling of tales, she would have…

She would have what? It hurt Mirelle to admit she probably wouldn’t have given him that chance. Maybe she should cut him a little slack. If this was the first time he’d had extended contact with people in ages, how did she expect him to conduct himself? Well, preferably not like an ego-driven pervert. Still, if people saw this side of him, maybe they wouldn’t think…

They should have put him down like a rabid animal.

Kendrick’s echoing voice was like a knife twisted in her belly. If they’d done that, she’d have never seen this side of him. Revaramek would have never found joy in her friends. They’d have never heard his stories. Strange to think that only an hour earlier and she’d have thought the idea ludicrous. Yet now it would have seemed profoundly unfair to rob any of them of this moment.

Even Revaramek.

“Now before I get into this tale, it comes with a warning.” Revaramek curled his long tail around his paws. “It does get ever so sad at times. I can skip the bawdy bits, but…well don’t laugh at me if the sad parts make me cry.”

Mirelle heaved a great sigh, and the anger drained from her along with her breath. Her shoulders sagged, and she went a little limp. Before she could stop herself, she relaxed her grip on the frying pan. It fell to the earth with a great clang that made Mirelle wince.

Revaramek’s head snapped around, his ears swiveled forward, gold-tipped frills all flared in alarm. He hissed, but the hiss died when he spotted her. “Oh! Hello, Mirelle!”

“Mirelle!” Beka turned and waved a soapy hand, froth flying off it. “We wondered when you…oh…” She trailed off, glancing at Tavaat, then looking herself over. “We must look a fright!”

Tavaat cleared his throat with a loud growl. “Hey! Uh…don’t worry about the damages, I’ll…I’ll pay it all myself.”

Mirelle waved off their concerns. “It’s fine.” She gave the dragon a smile. “Hello, Revaramek. Seems you’ve made friends.”

“A benevolent overlord must befriend his subjects.” The dragon cocked his head as if he couldn’t understand why that surprised her. Then he glanced at the ground near her. “Is…that a frying pan?”

Mirelle nudged the pan with her boot. “It is.”

“I see.” Revaramek gulped.

The dragon glanced around, frantically searching for something. Perhaps some peace offering or some broken thing he tried to fix for her. He picked up a mug, looked it over, and tossed it aside. Then he did the same with a bucket, and finally lifted up a soup pot it looked as if he’d been drinking from. Ah, he was going to apologize for using her good cookware. Well, that was alright.

For a moment, Mirelle felt genuine sympathy for the dragon. “Look, I’m not angry, anymore. And…I’m sorry I…well, I should have given you…look…Oh, I said that already. It’s just…apologies are hard for me.”

And then the moment passed.

“What? Sorry, Mirelle, I was looking for something to protect my balls with. Found it!” The dragon stuck the soup pot down between his hind legs, covering his genitals. “There, safe and sound. Now what were you yammering about?”

“Get your damn dirty balls out of my best soup pot!” Mirelle stomped towards the beast.

“They’re only dirty because you put your boot prints all over them, you kick-happy harpy!”

“I was trying to apologize, you perverted newt!” Mirelle snatched up a soapy cloth and threw it at the dragon’s face. “But now I’ve half a mind to ring that pot like a bell until you learn to sing!”

The dragon hissed at her, resting a forepaw on his makeshift codpiece. “You’ll get your pot back when you promise not to kick me again tonight.”

Mirelle balled up her fists, ground her teeth, and then caught sight of Beka and Tavaat standing nearby. All the joy was gone from their faces. They stared at her, and she couldn’t tell who they were more concerned for. Her, or the dragon. It hit her then, like a punch in that gut, that just this once maybe she was the one at fault.

“You know what?” Mirelle took a step back from the dragon, waving at the pot. “Keep it. I can’t cook with it now, anyway.” She glanced around at the others, her heart sinking. “Sorry. I…I shouldn’t…” Damn it, why were words of contrition always the hardest to find? “I’ve had a trying day, and the council meeting…well, I’m sorry I ruined your evening.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.” Beka came forward and shook the soap from her hand, then gently squeezed Mirelle’s shoulder. “You’re just angry, we understand. What happened with the council?”

“I appreciate your concern.” She smiled and took Beka’s hand in her own to squeeze it. “But if it’s alright with you all, I think I’m just going to go take a hot bath.” She glanced at the dragon. “Alone. And then crawl into bed. I’ll tell you about the meeting in the morning.”

“As you wish, then.” Beka returned the squeeze, still smiling. “I also have a new ale recipe I’m working on, and I’ve love to have your opinion on the test batch tomorrow.”

“I’d like that.” She turned towards Tavaat, bowing her head to him. “Don’t worry about the damages. Repair what you can, and we’ll have the rest replaced.”

“Do I get an apology?” Revaramek arched his head, his spines half flared.

“Yes.” Mirelle shot the dragon a glare. “I’m sorry you’re an asshole.” She smirked, then amended herself. “But…I’m also sorry I treated you like an asshole.”

“Thank you.” Revaramek flared his wings a little. “Apology accepted, subject.”

“It strikes me dragon, that this is the second time I’ve tried to start over with you in one day. I suspect I’ll get the result, but hope springs eternal.” She turned and walked towards her home, waving. “Good night, everyone.”

“Mirelle!” Revaramek thumped his tail. “I’ve an important question.”

Mirelle stopped.  “Yes?”

“Am I your minion?” Revaramek sounded far too hopeful for her liking

“Minion? Yeah, I guess you could call yourself that.”

“You see?” The dragon cackled. “I told you she was a villain!”