Damsel Knight

Damsel Knight Part 1: Chapter Five

She cracks open her eyes.

The dragon hovers over her. Its snout is inches from her face. Black eyes stare down at her, and they don't look as lifeless as they did a moment before. She imagines she sees something like surprise sparking in those wide eyes.

Slowly Bonnie gets to her feet, but the dragon still doesn't move. It's frozen in place, its warm breath wafting over her, making the shorn ends of her blond hair sway. Those giant eyes follow her movements carefully, never leaving her face. Almost like it recognises her.

***

Not daring to move, Bonnie scans the ground around her for the sword. Whatever has frozen the dragon in place, there's no guarantee how long it'll last. This is her chance to kill the creature. Maybe the only chance she'll ever get.

"Neven," she hisses behind her. "Help me find my sword."

There's an awkward shuffling sound as Neven unfreezes, casting dirt and rubble aside to look for the weapon. She doesn't turn around, scared that if she turns her back on the dragon it will be the last thing she ever does. It's so close, close enough to touch if she were to reach out. She clenches her fist, forcing down the urge to run a hand over the hard scales of its snout.

"Sword. Here," Neven gasps, sounding breathless. Bonnie feels cold metal placed into her hand.

The sword feels heavier than she remembers it ever feeling before. Its eyes are too far away to reach in its house sized head. Its mouth is closed. She'll have to drive the sword in under its chin, and hope the scales are soft enough, and the sword long enough for the blow to be fatal.

She swallows, and lifts the sword in both hands. She'll have to be quick. One quick movement to duck under the creatures chin, another to plunge the sword up into the soft spot under its jaw. Its head is so big that she doubts even a straight blow up would reach the brain, but if she angles it back toward the throat she might have a chance of wounding something vital.

And if she fails, well then, she won't have a long time to worry about it. She's a little girl facing down a dragon the size of a hill. It could snap her in two with a flick of a claw. And if she makes it angry then it won't hesitate.

But there's something strange here, because it's not supposed to be hesitating now. It's supposed to be breathing fire, ripping her limb from limb, chomping her up in that cave of a mouth. Instead it stares down at her with dark eyes that make her heart clench. Those dark eyes that looked up at her on that day years ago.

The day her parents died.

The metal of the sword feels slick in her hands. Reaching back to that day she tries to find the anger she thought she'd feel in this moment. She tries to remember her father shouting, his gentle voice angry. Tries to remember him dead on the floor, drenched in blood. She's prepared for this day since she was ten years old. Sometimes the anger would consume her so much she was afraid there would be nothing left of her, but now that she needs it, the anger falls away.

Instead her mind drifts back to that box, left on a chair as her parents argue outside. Her, five summers old and curious. Nothing in her mind of blood and death. Monsters lived only in stories, and vengeance was unknown to her.

Her heart hammers loud in her ears, and her arms shake so badly the sword wavers. Instantly she's furious with herself. She should be able to do this. Her father killed dragons all over the border. It was the dream of every boy and man to kill a dragon, it should be her dream too. To kill the dragon, pay her debt to her parents, and present proof of the dragon's death to the King in exchange for knighthood.

Killing this dragon has been in her thoughts for the past four years. How, when she's so close can she change her mind? Then it hits her: pity. Her stomach churns in disgust. Standing here, looking into the eyes of the creature that she should hate, part of her actually feels sorry for it.

No. Bonnie grits her teeth, screws her eyes shut. Strong. She has to be strong. Only weak women would let such sentimentality cloud their mind. She has to choose. Will she be a weak minded slave of a wife, or a strong knight like her father?

She spins, putting her whole body behind the swords lunge. It's a graceful movement halfway between his father's swordsmanship and her mother's ballroom dancing. There's a cool satisfaction knowing that her mother's desperate attempts to make her more of a woman help now to make her a man.

Falling into a crouch under the animal's giant chin she flows the momentum upward, aiming her sword at the pale red patch of scales directly above her. The tip of the sword slides between two scales. There's resistance, and then it jerks upward into soft flesh. Her muscles burn, sweat dripping into her eyes with the effort. Warm blood runs down the blade, washing over her hands, soaking the sleeves of her tunic.

So much blood. She stops, shaking. The dragon's breath comes in slow even rhythms above her. Its blood pours over her, soaking through her clothes to the skin, but it doesn't even twitch.

There's a clang of metal hitting stone floor, and she realises she's dropped the sword. Numbly she looks down at what little she can see of herself under the shadow of the dragon's chin. Blood shines slickly over her arms and down the front of her clothes.

She can't do this. She can't.

Slowly she raises a blood coated hand, places her palm on the scales in front of her. They're warm and smooth under her skin, just like she remembers. The dragon's heart beats, powerful under its scaled armour. It vibrates down her arm, steady, contrasting with the rapid beating of her own heart. Above her the animal lets out a rumbling sound that shakes her very bones. It doesn't sound aggressive. It sounds almost like he's purring.

"Bonnie," Neven hisses behind her.

She jumps, coming back to her senses with a jolt. Snatching up the sword she backs up until she's away from the dragon, next to the pillar Neven stands by. The dragon doesn't move, still staring at her.

Neven's eyes widen when he sees the blood, but Bonnie shakes her head. "It's a nick at best."

Neven has the stone pillar between him and the dragon, his shield gripped in one hand. He glances between her and the dragon, face pale. "Why didn't you kill it?" He gestures a hand toward the crouching dragon. "You're never going to get a better chance than this. It's under some kind of spell or something."

"I can't Neven. I..." Her heart hammers in her chest, tongue searching for some explanation that won't make her sound as weak as she feels. "I want to earn my knighthood, not get it on some kind of fluke because a spell stopped it fighting back. It wouldn't be honourable to kill him when he's like this."

Neven presses his lips together, looking unconvinced. "I don't think you need to worry about it having a fair fight when it's the size of a castle!"

Bonnie shakes her head, eyes locked on the beautiful, horrible creature that towers over them both. She should hate him. Why can't she bring herself to hate him? She's been planning this day for years, and now he's right where she needs him, she can't do it. She can't bring herself to kill him while he's helpless. "We take him back to the King," she says. "We get him to break the spell, then I avenge my parents in an honourable fight. My father would expect no less."

"Brilliant," Neven says, staying his side of the pillar. "I'll just scoot over in the boat to fit it in. I'm sure Jack won't mind."

"We'll find a way," Bonnie says. She keeps the sword handle clenched tightly in a fist, and one eye on the dragon. Whatever magic is affecting the beast, she knows it could break at any moment. She wonders if she'll still feel the same way about wanting it to fight back when it's drowning them with fire. She wonders if whatever sentimentality stalled her hand before will show up again, even when she's defending her life. "We have to."