Trav dropped a few squeaking pig-bugs and the small dragon-he finally identified it as Yilg-avidly devoured them, but something was wrong.
“You are so small compared to Piddling,” Trav said in wonder. The runt had grown twice as fast as his egg mates, leaving the once large Yilg far behind. Yilg was hardly bigger than he had been in the midst of the winter storms.
Trav winced as Piddling rubbed against him once more, begging for more bugs. Trav pulled the last one from his pocket, looked from Yilg to Piddling and back. He dropped the bug between them. Piddling snorted once and sent a gust of flame in Yilg’s direction. The smaller dragon backed away and let Piddling eat uncontested.
Trav went to the mouth of the cave and looked around, concerned about possible hiding places a spy might use. Something crunched under his foot. White bones, well-chewed, were scattered around the mouth of the cave. Most had sunk in deep mud, partially hiding the remains, but it was obvious the dragons inside had begun foraging on their own.
A moment of fear surged through Trav, then passed. He had known how dangerous the dragons were when he had rescued their eggs from the stream. If they hadn’t been, Kennick would never be shown for the coward Trav knew he was. The dragons were not as deadly as those allowed to grow up in the wild, away from human contact. These were-still, perhaps-more pets than predators. But had he really done the right thing nurturing Yilg and Piddling?
Trav didn’t know.
“Please, Trav, listen to my words,” Wyatt pleaded. His eyes, something inhuman about them, glowed a dull ocher that reminded Trav uncomfortably of his dragons. Trav looked at the tight knot of villagers gathered around Kennick and Juliana and wanted to join them, if only to shout denunciations.
Wyatt whispered to him, pleading. “Believe me. I might tell stories for a few pennies, but there is truth in much of what I say.”
“What? That a dragon bit off your leg?” In other times, Trav might have been interested. Now he wanted only to get to his special cave and tend his reptilian wards.
“More. I lost the leg just as you did your toes.”
“I told you, that was frostbite,” Trav said in a flat voice.
Wyatt ignored the response. “I swung Dragonslicer. I used the true Sword to kill my dragon.” He sniffed hard and wiggled his scaly nose as if scenting the air. “The Sword is magical.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Trav said, distracted.
“I still have it,” Wyatt said unexpectedly. Trav stared at him. Wyatt rushed on: “I was entrusted with the true Blade. The one Kennick calls Dragonslicer is a piece of trash. It looks no more like the real thing than I resemble Kennick.” Wyatt spat out the words contemptuously.
“I must go.” Trav’s head was buzzing with wild stories. He had things to do and didn’t want Wyatt around.
“They kill!” Wyatt shouted after him. “They are creatures of evil! I spent my life killing them, but they killed me. Look at me. Look!”
Trav gazed back over his shoulder. “I see an old fool, fit for nothing but to muck stables and clean privies. And now no one wants your yarns!” Trav’s anger was directed inward as much as it was toward Wyatt. He was being forced to admit to himself that raising the dragons had been wrong.
The old man hobbled on after him, still speaking in low tones no one else could hear. “Trav, Trav, I killed dragons with Dragonslicer. That is no yarn. But the burden was too great.” Trav, fascinated despite himself, could not tear himself away, as Wyatt pursued him. The old man sobbed: “In pride, in madness, I even thought to have a dragon for a pet. But the beasts cannot be controlled. I became like them. I killed dragons until I was no longer able, then I put aside the Sword.”
“Enough!” Trav clenched his eyes shut, refusing to listen, refusing to think. “You are old, ancient. You have no business following me.” He opened his eyes into a silence.
Wyatt was standing with his head cocked on one side. Bright eyes looked out of his hideous face. “You go to the cave? They’re not there now. Both are out killing.”
Trav felt a hand of ice clutch at his heart.
Wyatt went on: “They range farther now, out to slay humans. I have watched them growing this past week. Quick, very quick. Out on the road this mom, the bigger one killed a riding-beast-and its rider.”
“None will believe you.”
“Why do you nurture them? Why do you loose them on the country? Can’t you see their evil? Feel it?” Wyatt straightened, surprising Trav with his height. The two were on a par in both height and girth. For the first time, Trav feared the old man.
“Whatever your reason, you are the one who must undo the evil you have created. The Sword-” Wyatt coughed and pointed, with a finger gnarled as an old tree root. “It is hidden-” He broke off, coughing so hard he couldn’t stop.
Turning his back on the momentarily helpless man, Trav hobbled away as fast as he could. Wyatt might destroy all he had worked for. Piddling and Yilg weren’t killers. Not in the way Wyatt claimed. He, Trav, had raised them, and they were gentled to humans. That wouldn’t stop the pair from intimidating anyone who lacked a backbone. Kennick would never stand and fight a pair of dragons, even ones hardly larger than a dog.
Instead of visiting the cave, Trav wandered for hours through the spring woodlands, thinking hard. Kennick might hear Wyatt’s accusation of Trav raising dragons. No matter that Piddling and Yilg were still small. It was time for him to expose Kennick as the coward he must be.
Returning to Slake, Trav’s resolve hardened when Kennick rode into the village on a fine new riding-beast and a tooled saddle chased with silver. Kennick jumped to the ground and embraced Juliana.
As Trav hobbled up, he heard the paladin say, “Juliana, my love! I am glad you are safe! There is a dragon marauding along the roadway. I feared for you.”
“With you here, there can be no danger,” Juliana said, adoration glowing in her eyes. She clung tightly to him.
Trav wanted to spit. Instead he hurried forward and said loudly, “I’ve seen the dragon. I know where it lairs.”
“What? What’s that you say?” Kennick spun, his face suddenly pale. He touched Dragonslicer’s hilt, fingers drumming nervously. The fear in the champion’s face was all Trav might have hoped for, but Juliana still did not see it.
“Less than a day’s walk from here,” said Trav.
“You do not joke?” Kennick tried to recover his composure. To Trav’s critical eye, he failed. Trav dared not let the paladin escape now that he had set the hook. One look at a real dragon and only Kennick’s dust would be seen in Slake.
“You must face the dragon, or Juliana will be in jeopardy. You spoke of depredation.”
“But it was far from here. That way. The reports-” Kennick swallowed hard, and Trav reveled even more in the man’s discomfort. Revenge was sweet.
“Only Dragonslicer can slay this dragon.” Trav’s voice prodded the reluctant hero. “I can show you the cave they-it-lives in.”
“No, Kennick, don’t go!” cried Juliana, true fear in her voice for the man she thought she loved.
“He must!” Trav prompted, as innocently as he could. “Otherwise, who can tell what the dragon might do to Slake?”
Kennick moved his lips as if his mouth were dry. But the man managed to summon up some courage. “Then come with me, youngling. Show me this dragon, and I’ll slay it.” He turned to Juliana. “I dedicate this creature’s death to you, my love.”
They kissed, and Trav for a moment was tempted to snatch Dragonslicer from Kennick’s sheath and end the farce.
Moments later, Kennick had grabbed Trav’s arm and was hoisting the youth behind him in the high-backed saddle. They charged off, Trav doing his best to hang on while he gave directions. He had to admit riding was superior to hobbling along on his mutilated feet.