The Unwinnable War

THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED proved just as strange. For now, Steven traveled eastward on the road and encountered other travelers on a regular basis. But it seemed that the more people he saw, the fewer saw him. Occasionally a traveler would greet him as they passed. Sometimes as he caught up with a slower traveler, they would walk together some few steps, but Steven now was feeling a more urgent need to press forward and soon, even those he spoke to were quickly forgotten.

After his first night in an inn, Steven realized that he would have to get more coins or go back to camping. He chose the latter. He couldn’t really imagine why people valued the coins, but he knew he had traded a day’s labor for the four coins and then traded two of them for a meal and a cold room to sleep in. If he had to work half a day for every night’s lodging, he would never get around the mountains to go back south toward the dragon.

He had traveled a total of 508,155 steps when he saw the dragon.

The sun was behind Steven and he cast a long shadow on the road ahead. He was looking for a place to camp, but this stretch of road had a steep rise on his right and a sheer drop on the left. There was nothing to do but traverse the passage and hope he could find a campsite after dark.

Then he caught a glint of light coming toward him. It sparkled like jewels in the evening sun. It was moving fast toward him with wings outstretched, skimming the ground. Fire sparked from the ground beneath it. Steven hastily strung his bow and nocked an arrow. This time a miss might easily cost him his life, he thought. As the dragon drew nearer, the thunder of its approach shook the ground. It had jeweled armor and two heads. It waved taloned arms and its armor jangled above the thunder of its approach.

Steven was having a difficult time drawing the bow, shuffling backward to try to find purchase. In his haste, he tripped over his discarded backpack and the arrow loosed up into the air. And then the dragon was upon him.

No, not one dragon, but several dragons, for there were at least six of the four-legged, two-headed beasts. As he fumbled for another arrow, the leader reached out with a taloned claw and swatted the bow from his hand. Steven prepared to die.

“Who fires on the king’s knights?” called the leader as he swept a gauntleted hand up to his face and pulled his visor back, revealing the face of a man, not a dragon. Then Steven realized he was riding a horse, but a horse unlike anything Steven had ever seen. It wore armor like its rider and skirts that billowed about its knees and clanged together as the pleats moved with its pace. The knight astride the charger wore armor that shone in the last rays of sun. He carried a shield across one arm and a sword was drawn in the other. His cape billowed out behind him in the wind.

“I am Steven George the Dragonslayer, sir,” Steven said weakly. “I thought you were the dragon bearing down on me.”

“A dragonslayer?” exclaimed one of the other knights. “How many dragons have you slain, man?”

“None yet, sir,” Steven said, “but I am on my way to find and slay the dragon that threatens my village, 508,155 steps that way, across a lake and across a river.”

“Well, Dragonslayer,” spoke the lead knight, “now you are Steven George prisoner of the king’s knights. Pick up your things and march ahead of us to the town that lies a league behind you. Before this night is over, we will know why you seek a dragon that threatens your village when you are so far from that village.” Steven picked up his bow and shouldered his pack and turned obediently back in the direction he had just come. 508,156. 508,157. Steven had retraced 2,349 steps when they came to the inn in the village Steven had passed through only a while before. Now, however, the sun had sunk beneath the edge of the mountain westward and darkness enveloped the little lodge.

Servants emerged from the inn to take the knights’ horses and the knights were welcomed into the inn with an elaborate show of respect. They were seated nearest the fire and served steaming bowls of lamb in thick gravy over turnips. Steven was seated between two of the knights and given a bowl of the savory stew as well.

“Now, Dragonslayer,” said the leader of the knights. “It is a noble thing to protect your village from a dragon, but tell us why you are 508,000 steps away from the place that is threatened?”

“510,504,” Steven corrected him automatically.

“Very well. Five hundred and so on...” said the knight. The knight waited patiently as Steven explained how he had been unable to cross the river near his village, had gone north along the river until he was able to cross, had become lost in the rain storm and was told to keep right, how he had come to the lake and been ferried across and how he had found his way back to the main road and was trying to get back around the mountains to the river again. The knights nodded, grinned, occasionally laughed.

“Yes, that would work,” said one of the knights. “Once he passes through Byzatica, he could take the south road toward Tasmyrica. The desert caravan route branches off South and would lead him back to the great river eventually.”

Steven never knew there were so many roads in the world.

“Very well,” said the knight leader. “As knights of the king it is our duty to protect the citizens of the kingdom from all evil, including beasts of prey. Therefore, I believe we should put Steven George the Dragonslayer on the right road to his destiny.” The other knights agreed. “But,” continued the knight, “there is a price to be paid.” He looked sternly at Steven. Steven solemnly reached into his pouch and produced his two remaining silver coins and offered them to the knight. The knights all laughed uproariously. When they had finished gasping for breath and ordered another round of tankards for their company, the lead knight continued.

“We are knights of the king,” he said. “We take coin from no common man no matter how noble his mission. That is not the debt we will collect. You have drawn your bow on the king’s liegemen. We accept that it was a misunderstanding, but it was one that must not happen again. Therefore, you will serve us for three days. We will head north from here, out of your way, but into an area in which villages are sparse. We need to eat. Therefore, you will accompany us as our huntsman. Find food, make camp, provide for us on this journey. In three days, we will arrive at Zannopolis. From there, you will continue back southeastward three days and you will arrive in Byzatica. The difference will cost you three days more than it would cost to go directly from here to Byzatica. That is the price for not knowing a knight from a dragon. Are you agreed?”

“All roads lead to my dragon,” Steven recalled the wise woman saying. “This road is as good as any other.”

“Perhaps while we are camped at night,” said one of the knights, “you will tell us the story of your fantastic hat.”

Steven hesitated.

“Is that story part of the payment you require for my crime?” Steven asked warily.

“Not at all,” said the lead knight. “It is a companionly request from your fellow travelers.” Then the knight lit up in comprehension. “Ah! You are one of those folks who deal in stories as currency! No, we would not steal a story from you, Dragonslayer. But perhaps we could trade a story for a story, no?” Steven grinned.

“It is agreed,” he said enthusiastically.

KNIGHTS, CHARGERS, AND STEVEN set off northward as dawn lightened the eastern sky in the morning. Steven’s pack and staff were loaded on one of the pack animals. He kept his bow and ran at the side of the trotting horses. Without his pack on his back, Steven felt somehow lighter and thought that he could run all day with no weight on his back. In fact, it proved that the horses, loaded with the weight of their own armor and that of the knights needed to stop and rest more often than Steven did. During the day, he brought down a grouse from beside the road and two rabbits. When they stopped to camp for the night, Steven added a duck.

Much to the surprise of the knights, Steven did not spit the animals and turn them over the fire, but used the camp pot the knights brought to create a stew. Into this he cut the meat and added turnips and carrots that grew nearby. He surreptitiously added a pinch of the wise woman’s herbs to the simmering pot of stew. Before the knights had finished caring for their horses, the smell of cooking wafted throughout the clearing where they camped. By the time the food was served, the knights were anxiously stamping their feet on the ground like horses champing at the bit. The stew was thick and chunky and they set to with a hearty appetite.

“This food is better than any served at the king’s high table,” exclaimed one of the knights. “Our dragonslayer is a wizard of the cookpot!” Steven silently thanked the old woman for her herbs.

“Much as I would like to press the dragonslayer for the story of his hat,” said the leader of the knights, “after such a tasty meal it is only fair that we regale him with a tale as tall as the trees that surround us.” The knights wagged their heads in agreement.