Spring, 1327

The Spring Festival was a disappointment this year, the barkeep thought as he watched the crowds disperse and the night men begin the arduous task of washing away the blood and bone fragments from the plaza cobblestone outside his establishment. For months, everyone in Caldern had been anticipating a heralded combat between the infamous Stanton Dragon and the Knights Constantine; gaudy posters at every street corner promised the most glorious spectacle ever witnessed on the streets of the capital. But then one day in the depths of winter came some bad news: the quarry was more tenacious than expected. The tavern owners and merchants tried to put a good face on the issue, stating that the surely the entertainment would be far more interesting with such a resolute opponent, but even they exchanged worried glances with each other. It was never good news when something heralded was late.

Then the news about the Stanton Dragon stopped altogether.

And after all that, when the Spring Festival finally occurred, they had a manticore and more goblins.

The crowds hated it. There was the usual slaughter, but no one, not even the knights, were much enthused about the tourney. There seemed to be less of visitors this year. Viewers were few, most left early, and those who remain held tightly to their coins against all but drink. The tavern had made only a half as much as it would have usually during this time and the barkeep closed early to watch the sad end of the ceremonial combat.

The tavern owner shook his head as the crowded quickly disappeared. What a waste of a holiday. He sighed and walked back into his tavern, walked over to the counter, poured himself a mug of ale, and drank deeply.

Ah well. There’s always next year.

***

“His Royal highness will see you now.”

Colonel Martin and Major Tower got up from their seats outside the Royal audience chamber and acknowledged the herald. It was a rare privilege to meet the king, and the half dozen guards clad in ornate bascinets and breastplates and armed with bardiches attested to the protective insularity to the king.

The guards opened the heavy oak doors and ushered the soldiers in, revealing a massive chamber able to fit a hundred people, with bright walls painted with their sun motifs and ornate paneling of saints and legendary heroes, interspliced with draperies depicting unicorn hunts and great battles. And mounted heads of various animals. Hundreds of taxidermied creatures- lions, boars, dire wolves, stags, elk, aurochs, basilisks, minotaurs, caprines, cyanos, gryphons- started blankly ahead, and at the end of it, directly below the throne, besides another dozen guards and King John-who was amusing himself twirling a skinning knife-lay the mounted head of the Stanton Dragon.

“Ah! Commanders! You have come!” The king called out from the end of the hallway.

Martin and Towser immediately knelt. “My liege.” They announced in unison.

“Come! Rise!”

The king was in a good mood, Martin thought. King John's tantrums were legendary and the colonel was glad he didn't need to see it.

For weeks now, the castle had been rife with strange stories about the Stanton Dragon and the failed attempt to bring it back alive. Some said that the king was furious with the failure. Some said that the dragon was a failed Other Man trick to assassinate the king and destroy the royal castle before the invasion. Some said that the taxidermists had been confused by the dragon’s anatomy.

The commander bowed his head again.

“Please accept my apologies that we were unable to secure the creature alive for you, my liege. The Stanton Dragon would have made a great offering for the Spring Festival.” Martin stated, facing the ground.

“Ah yes that was a shame. Perhaps you could improve upon your fighting skills.” The king tsked tsked and shook his head. Martin silently cringed.

“Still, I like how big this creature is.” King John got up and walked under the dragon’s head. The wyrm's features were frozen mid-roar, its rows of teeth glistening in the candle light, its sightless eyes glaring down at the figures below. The king gently caressed the mounted dragon’s snout.

“Such a fierce creature. I almost regret its death.”

“We all did what we could.” The colonel replied.

“I can just smell the brimstone and blood and the clash of metal and the din of fighting. Oh, to be in the thick of it!”

“I’m sorry to say I am no longer able to apprec- ”

“The thrill of the hunt! Men against the Wilds! Reveal to the world the divine nature of my rule!”

“Um…” Martin looked up in confusion. King John was in a full spring of youthful enthusiasm, eagerly twirling his knife as he ran around among his hunting trophies.

“I am so glad that you were able to help me kill off such a fearsome creature.” His liege continued, somewhat obliviously to his surroundings.

“I’m sorry?”

“I mean, I could have defeated it without your help, but the support was nevertheless helpful and appreciated." King John spread his arms and twirled once, beating his chest with an arm.

"I remember the duel like it was yesterday. The clash of steel! The snapping of teeth! The screams of men! The sheets of fire! It was the greatest battle that I have ever fought. The beast fought with all the evil ferocity of the Grand Demon himself! But the heavens were on my side, and the forces of light protected me from the dragon’s black magic and foul flames. And when I plunged that sword into this foul creature’s heart, watched it writhe in death as its lifeblood sprayed out, and then cut off its head, it felt so glorious. The good people of the town fell to their knees and thanked their savior."

The king laughed as he threw his knife into the air and caught it as it plunged back down. Martin and Major Towser flinched.

“Let the bards sing about the Great Hunt of King John and the Stanton Dragon!”

The king’s boast echoed through the chambers of the great hall. The royal retainers and guards shuffled uncomfortably. King John didn’t notice, casually dismissing the officers with an idle wave of his hand.

“You two are dismissed. But whenever I need another great hunt, I will be sure to call on Colonel Martin Cunningham.”

Martin awkwardly knelt again and quickly found himself with Towser on the other side of the thick doors of the hall. The pair of guards standing guard outside stared curiously at the Royal Army officers that had caused so much commotion during their audience with the king.

“What just happened major?” Martin muttered blankly.

“It’s not worth thinking about Colonel.” The old war dog stated, “Let the king play his fantasy-to him this is just another story. We go on.”

---

Bob Dylan - It's All over Now, Baby Blue

Courtesty of  lady-darkstreak!

Original: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/39754887/