The Saint of Dragons

The Battle With The White Dragon

ALDRIC WAS ALREADY RUSHING down the tree with surprising swiftness, but Simon was slipping on the slick branches.

“Quickly,” said Aldric. “It’ll tear her to pieces.”

The Knight ran across the swampy grass toward her building. Rain
was jabbing the Park, and by now it was nighttime, so Simon had trouble
seeing where his father was going. The boy ran as fast as he could, but
he was weighted down with the crossbow in his arms and the sword now hanging from his belt.

Wait, he wanted to yell, but he knew Aldric wouldn’t.

He strained to get across the field, slipping on thousands of slimy
worms.

Finally, Simon slowed down, slipping past the doorman and the gathering of the White Dragon’s guards, just behind Aldric. They ran into the elevator, the doors whipping shut behind them.

“Eighteenth floor,” Aldric muttered, pushing the number. “When the
lift stops, I go first. It’ll be to our right about fifty paces, the door facing
east.”

The elevator seemed to take forever. Simon watched Aldric close his eyes, seeming to calm himself. Clearly he had some feeling for this woman. Simon wondered if it would cloud his judgment.

Inside the woman’s home, Venemon, the White Dragon, had just sat down for a cup of hot chocolate.White chocolate. To her, the Dragon looked like an older, extremely handsome, white- haired gentleman. He had made his magic just right for her. His clothes and scarf simply made the illusion easier.

“Don’t you want to take off your coat?” asked Alaythia, pouring his
cocoa and trying not to seem too eager to please him.

“I don’t think so. There’s still a bit of a chill in the air.”

“Really?” asked Alaythia, wiping her brow with a badly tailored
sleeve.

“I was thinking it was surprisingly warm.”

“It’s comforting to me. I come from a cold place,” said the Dragonman.

“And where is that?” The woman smiled. “If it’s not prying too much…”

“I consider my true home to be in the icy cold of northern England,” he said. “That’s where my ancestors come from. It’s very beautiful, and I
miss it. All that pristine white sand on the beach, the foam at the top of
the ocean, so perfectly white. But, as you know, art is my passion. The
best place in the world for art is in New York. And perhaps in this very
room. You have some terrific works right here.”

Alaythia blushed. “Most of them are just my own doodlings.”

“They show great talent,” said Venemon, his amber eyes flicking
around the room.

She sat down in the chair beside him. She had never been given a word of encouragement for her own art, and his kind remarks had left her a bit dizzy. Dizzier than usual.

Little did she know the Dragon was actually thinking the room was painfully messy. It made his skin crawl to think how dirty it was making him. This woman was very beautiful, and he simply adored her, but her apartment was awful.

She spent too much time on art, and not enough on dusting and pursuing whiteness, as far as he wasconcerned. There was a smell to the place. It almost smelled of…magic, he thought.
He was so caught up in watching the woman and her slightly jumbled
hair, he did not realize he was smelling Dragonhunters approaching.

But would they ever get there?

Simon and Aldric were aghast to see
the elevator stopping for a little old lady.

“We don’t have time for this,” threatened Aldric. “Wait for the next
one.”