Summer, 1326

The Great Dragon Hunt was on.

With the matters in Stanton sorted out- from the obtaining and organizing the supplies and equipment of the expedition, to the taking care of that annoying human dragon lover- Colonel Martin Cunningham’s Royal Army force of seven hundred soldiers, supplemented by some five hundred militia under Sheriff Heratio Wilcox set out to capture the famed Stanton Dragon.

Using Wilcox’s militia as guides, Martin’s command had taken a particularly indirect march through the woods to the east of the mountain, concealing their advance. The march was done in total silence, with each soldier not acting as guides or skirmishers silently moving in single file so that the main column wove like a snake below the shaded brush underlying the cathedral of conifers. At night, no fires were allowed, and standing orders against hunting of game meant that the troops would subsist only on the food brought over from Stanton. The men quietly munched on stale bread, cold cuts and old wine and pondered about the battle ahead.

Four days on the march was followed by an additional day for rest and preparation for the battle. Martin made sure his troops were in top shape for battle, walking through the length of the covered encampment, surveying the troops and talking to local commanders. As the troops talked quietly among themselves, swords and spears were sharpened, straps tightened and arrows fetched. Martin also noticed with a start that some soldiers were quietly writing their names on a slip of paper, and sliding it to the back of their helmet so that their remains might be easier to identify.

Everyone knew the task ahead would be great.

The next morning, getting up before first light to rouse his troops, Martin found to his admiration that Wilcox also up and about rousing the town militia, all yawning and grumbling about the early hour before being rapidly silenced by a agnry glare. Deftly placing his helmet atop his head, the Sheriff of Stanton waved at the Royal commander before him.

“We will fight for the king, colonel.”

Colonel Martin nodded.

***

Martin had his troops scale Mt. Rubinox in the early hours before dawn. To speed things up he divided his infantry into companies and had them all ascend at the same time, with scouts racing ahead to mark the way. Some soldiers took the trail twice utilized by the townsfolk, with others climbed their way directly up the cliff face using ropes and wooden pegs. It was difficult, dangerous work, but only one unfortunate individual slipped and fell off the sheer cliff face of the early morning darkness. Within only a few hours the bulk of the forces had assembled in the woods just off of a clearing, Wilcox silently pointing out the indention in the rocky flanks to the military officers.

The mouth of the cave.

In the forest, Martin put on his helmet and drew his sword. As the commander of the expedition, he would be expected to give orders, not to fight, but the colonel will also need to be an inspiration to his troops.

Martin looked around in the early morning gloom, just before the sun broke through the mountain tops. Carleton, Weir, and Wilcox were in front of him, while the wounded Towser was in the rear moving up the heavy equipment later. His force was ready.

Colonel Martin Cunningham calmly put his face mask down and raised his sword.

“Let us do our duty to our king.”

***

Mera knew the King’s forces were coming. He could sense them marching towards his mountain. Yet still the speed at which they ascended the slopes and attacked had caught him by surprise. Not fully awake yet, Mera had not even been able to take off at dawn before the Royal troops were already upon him, quickly driving the shocked dragon back to the ground with a sheet of bodkin tipped arrows. Before the dragon could break off his dive, the Royal footmen were upon him with spears, pikes and swords.

Still despite falling into another ambush, the dragon again showed that he was not a creature to be trifled with, throwing out a sheet of flame that immediately incinerated the front rank of attackers.

As the screaming burning figures crumpled to the ground, the Royals paused, but only for a second before they came on again past the blackened remains of their comrades to continue the attack. Wilcox’s forces were less disciplined; the townsfolk blanched, and a few ran off, but now stiffened by the presence of the Royals, Wilcox’s glare, and perhaps even experience from their own previous encounter, most of the militia continued fighting as well, though with considerably less enthusiasm than the professionals.

Watching the slaughter, Martin was glad he had moved with such speed, pinning the dragon to the ground and neutralizing the creature’s most dangerous ability: its flight and maneuverability in the air. Now he ordered the Carleton’s and Weir’s reserves to begin the second phase of the operation.

***

Blowing out sheets of fire, cutting down those who got close enough with his claws and teeth, Mera thought that he was effectively holding off the human attackers when suddenly large contingents of soldiers suddenly filed out from both flanks, threatening the dragon on three sides. Hissing, forced to divide his attention, the dragon slowly began to back up, still throwing out sheets of flame. The soldiers and militia also continued pushing, despite the losses they sustained every time the wyrm opened his mouth, and step by step Mera retreated. Only a few bloody minutes later, and the dragon had been driven back into his cave.

***

Martin’s forces stopped right in front of the cave entrance, archers guarding against any escape or surprise moves. Wilcox likewise tensely held off the townsfolk with a raised arm. Sword in hand, Martin slowly marched towards the yawning mouth, walking past the burnt and bloodied bodies of his fallen, his troops parting before him.

The commander calmly stared at the yawning black maw of the cave.

His plan had been effective. The dragon was trapped unless it had a back escape exit-that seemed unlikely however, with only a few cave mouths big enough to fit a dragon to begin with and furthermore, none of the townsfolk had ever mentioned another entrance. Hypothetically, Martin could just camp, build fortifications, and wait out the dragon, forcing it to attack after it had grown hungry and weary and weak and thus easier to capture.

However that was too much of a risk. What if he was wrong about the escape route? What if his own soldiers grew weary when the dragon finally attacked. What if the militia got bored and left? There was too much uncontrollable factors.
Martin had to be certain. He had to for his king.

With a gesture from his sword, Martin ordered his troops to storm in.

***

This second battle was more ferocious than the first. There was no room for subtlety here. In the confines of the cave, there was little room for maneuvering, no brilliant strategies or enviable leadership, only slaughter and death. Mera was waiting for them in the back of the front chamber of his cave, the narrowing chambers dissipating the human’s strength in numbers. The dragon knew he was trapped, knew that he was likely doomed, but like any beast with its back to the wall, he fought with the desperation of a caged animal. If he was to die, Mera would sell his life dearly.

***

The dragon’s cave was relatively large, but even it could not fit the sheer mass of hundreds of soldiers. Consequently, Martin had arranged his forces in compact companies so that the spearmen and swordmen would be able to mutually support each other went they went into action. Martin sent them forward to die, and die they did in droves, as while the dragon lacked the freedom of mobility so too did the troops; only the front two ranks of this solid mass were able to attack the wyrm at all, and each individual soldier, armed with a sword or spear and perhaps a shield would be no match against the dragon’s power of fire and claw and teeth.

***

The human footmen continued their relentless assault, stepping over a carpet of fallen comrades piling up on the cavern flooring. Roaring and snarling, the dragon battled against the sea of pikes, futilely attempting to break through and either destroy his assailants or simply to escape. With fiery breath, Mera incinerated an advancing company, then leaped forward, tearing apart another half dozen attackers before being driven back again. It was hopeless; the instant space cleared up, more troops filled the void like sand from a side of massive dune. The resources of the King’s Men were far beyond what one dragon was able to utilize.

***

In the front room, Martin watched the fighting continue with dry analysis. His soldiers were professionals, and only unit cohesion of the highest order could allow such an epic specter of death translate into victory. The new spears were effective at limiting casualties, the extended points driving the dragon back into the narrow confines of the cave while avoiding for the most part the teeth and claws that -caused so much damage earlier. However the weapons were also unwieldy-especially in the crowded, dark confines of the cave- and the instant anyone lost attention and coordination flashes of fire, claw and teeth would claim more victims.

All of this served a purpose however; the only reason his swordsmen and spearmen were fighting and dying was no more than to wear the dragon down with exhaustion and wounds, and to serve as a distraction: preventing the creature from targeting his limited number of professional sharpshooters. After all, Martin's objective was to capture the dragon alive.

***

Mera was continuing his struggle when suddenly an object twirled through the air aiming straight towards his head. Reflexively the dragon reared up, shielding his face with his left arm. The object stuck his arm, but instead of impaling through the projectile neatly wrapped around his left forearm, and tightened. Hard. Mera stared dumbly at the object, which turned out to be a bola with two weights tied to rope, and was linked to another, longer rope. The longer rope was now being grasped by soldiers, who then proceeded to pull. In a panic. The dragon shied away, dragging the soldiers on the other end some distance, before his arm was immobilized by the resisting counterpull. Mera angrily threw flames at those soldiers in response, but the humans on the other end were protected by the wall of shields in the human front ranks. The dragon was forced to continue his fight with one arm bound uselessly in front of him, greatly limiting his mobility and effectiveness. Another such immobilizing object flew towards him, which Mera barely dodged by twisting his head sideways. Then in rapid succession more objects flew in the air, and suddenly sharp pain emitted from Mera’s arms and chest, followed by the feeling of general numbness around the wound. Mera roared in pain.

***

The first of Martin’s specialists were professional animal-catchers armed with snare poles and ropes thrown by bolas to immobilize the dragon. In short order, the dragon was bound by his left forearm, his chest and twice across the neck. Trained lines of soldiers and militia- led Sheriff Wilcox himself -grasped the rope and, pulling like they were in a tug-of-war competition, firmly held the creature down. Each bola throw that struck its target was easier than the last, and each blow immobilized the dragon further. The wyrm struggled and writhed violently, occasionally throwing an entire pulling team down, but was increasingly rendered helpless by this maneuver.

That left the most important element of Martin’s attack, his archers. These ranged fighters were armed with bodkin tipped arrows able to penetrate the dragon’s thick keratin. More importantly, those arrows had been tipped in wolfsbane, a known animal poison. The archers were ordered to avoid the dragon’s vitals and to hit it’s main musculature, to weaken, but not kill it. As the fighting continued, occasionally enough space would clear for the archers to unleash their poisoned arrows at the creature, and though the sniping was desultory and arrows often missed their mark, slowly and surely Martin’s troops wore down their opponent.

***

Mera was weakening and he was getting immobilized, bound by ropes around his arms and neck like a marionette held by its strings. Every desperate move he made was now being resisted against by dozens of humans pulling ropes. The ropes around Mera’s neck were choking him, sharply limiting the bronze’s ability to breathe, much less utilize his effective fire breath, and taking advantage of the respite from the flames, the humans were beginning to surround Mera on all sides. A half dozen arrows now pincushioning his body were weakening him, numbness seeming to emulate from the wounds and course through his veins. For the second time in the span of a week, Mera knew he would die.

He had to find a way out.

The commander, Mera suddenly realized, focusing on the well-dressed figure standing atop the rock nearby. Though not directly participating in the fighting, the Royal commander was just on the edge of the front lines giving orders. With the fighting decisively turning against him, Mera’s only hope for survival would be to try to kill the enemy leader; perhaps with the death of the officer, the dragon could throw his assailants into chaos; perhaps he could demoralize them enough to cause them to lose their nerve and flee.

It was a slight chance, but it was all the dragon had left.

Mera suddenly lunged forward, charging with all the strength and desperation of a drowning man grasping for salvation. Caught by surprise, the teams binding him down were unable to respond fast enough, and many lost their grip or were dragged along by the sudden movement. With all that was left of his energy, the dragon plowed through the human shield wall, throwing humans in the air like rag dolls, and continued towards the Royal commander, who drew his sword, raised his shield and braced for impact.

***

To Martin’s surprise, the dragon desperately lunged right at him, slamming its way through the infantry shield wall. The colonel barely had time to reflexively draw his sword and raise his shield before the wyrm rammed its head right into them. The impact sent the colonel flying, violently throwing him to the ground, and he hit hard, Martin's shield collapsing like a tin from the force of the collision. Vaguely the commander heard the din of the battle revolve around him, with calls of bloodshed in his name. With his breath knocked out of him and pain coursing through his body, Martin nevertheless reflexively raised his shield again just as the dragon reared up and began bringing its forearm down hard. The colonel saw a gigantic clawed paw descending to crush him-

And then the dragon stopped, suspended in the air by the ropes- again controlled by the rope teams0 pulling him back. Sheriff Wilcox himself was pulling with all his strength holding back the dragon’s arm and staying the crushing blow.

Then three arrows slammed straight into the dragon’s chest, causing the wyrm to stagger back. For a split second the dragon stood precariously balanced in midair, eyes open wide in an expression of dumb surprise, body in an upright position with three bloody quivers embedded deep in his reptilian neck, ropes that wrapped around his muzzle and forearms swinging wildly, and a hind leg full of claws gleaming a few feet away from the Auxian commander. Then the poison started to seep through and the dragon’s eyes rolled up. Silently the bronze fell unconscious, toppling backwards onto the ground.

Immediately a soldier nearby drew his sword and angrily raised it over his head to decapitate the fallen creature.

“Stop!”

The swordsman paused in mid-swing. Battered and bruised, Martin slowly got back onto his feet, removed his smashed helmet and dropped the now-useless armor unto the ground. He walked over the shattered, broken and bloody bodies littering the ground, until he reached the large scaly body crumpled in the epicenter with the victorious survivor ready to give in to their emotional hatred. Authoritatively Martin pushed the soldier aside and then turned and glared at him and then the rest of his troops.

“Remember your mission and our duty! We are soldiers of the Royal Army, and we obey the king!”

For a split second, he could see anger and bloodlust in the eyes of his soldiers. The fight had lasted no longer than an hour, but it had cost him dozens of men. Martin’s troops had not been through such a brutal slaughter in recent memory, and they had lost many friends in the struggle. The colonel pitied the soldier in front of him for acting out at what Martin himself had wanted to do since the beginning, but his obligation was not to himself, but to his king.

“Stand down.” The colonel calmly announced to his the swordsman beside him. “You are a soldier in this army and as such you will obey my orders. Do you understand?”

For a minute, soldier and commander stared at each other silently, swords drawn and ready to fight. Carleton stood nearby, also with his blade drawn but Martin was sure that his could handle any of his own troops. Then training and discipline sank in the glint of anger disappeared and the cold mechanics of discipline took over. The soldier lowered his weapon. “Yes sir.”

The rest of the army remained silent.

Martin picked up his sword, bloodied and bent from the battle. He tried to sheath it, but failed utterly, finally handing it to Major Towser in disgust as his trusted subordinate silently appeared beside him with one arm still in a sling. “Have the company blacksmith hammer this straight again.”

“Yes sir.”

***

With the battle over, a crowd of both Wilcox’s militiamen and his soldiers gathered around in a large circle to view the fallen dragon. The beast was dirty, bloody and covered in wounds, its limbs bound by ropes like a puppet, but there remained a certain power and majesty to it. With Martin’s explicit command and both Sgt. Towser and Corporal Carleton nearby, not to mention the danger continuing to emulate from the unconscious figure, no one dared to touch the creature.

Martin walked up to the dragon, and gave it a questioning nudge with his feet.

“The creature is alive.” Towser observed. "It is breathing, if shallowly."

“Good.”

The colonel turned back towards his soldiers and removed his helmet.

“Men, this was a hard fight, but we have triumphed. Let those who question the abilities of the Royal Army mark our deeds here. For we have faced off the most powerful creatures in the land, and defeated it. And now we will present our gift to the King. For we are the Sword of Auxia, and though us the King does great deeds! Now let us bury our fallen, knowing that they have fallen for a glorious cause. And let us be done with this cursed place.”

The soldiers and militia cheered, more from elation over the victory and their own survival than from the speech making, and then the force went back to work, taking care of the wounded, collecting the dead, recovering discarded equipment.

With Towser had come the support troops with the massive cart, manacles, chains and horses they had laboriously hauled up the mountain for the benefit of their newfound prisoner. These soldiers now set to work.

The colonel however continued staring at the dragon who had managed to hurt him, however temporarily.

“Well, it’s finally over.” Sergeant Towser said as he walked over to look at the fallen dragon.

“The creature fought well." Martin sighed, "Sad to know where it’ll end up.” With reluctance the colonel turned away from his fallen opponent, but there remained more work to do. “Have the men chain the beast and haul it onto the cart as soon as possible. I want leave this place before nightfall.”

“Yes sir.”

---

The Stanfields - Mrs McGrath

From the underappreciated  evvonic! Go check him out!

Original: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/43610051/