The Dragon Guide's Diary
By Ian Martínez Cassmeyer
I managed to convince “Sir Kevin,” (seriously, what monarch granted a knighthood to a person named Kevin?), not to attack the dragon today.
“It’s too late in the day,” I said, sitting across from him in the pub. “The dragon emerges in the evenings. Better to get him while he sleeps during the day.”
Many in the village, of course, weren’t opposed to getting rid of the old wyrm. It would save the farmers, especially, a fortune in purchasing new sheep and cattle. I just didn’t want the town destroyed again.
That made three-hundred and sixty-two days without a dragon attack.
In the pub today, between grilling me on details about the beast, Sir Kevin spent all his time drinking up the nerve to face the dragon.
Of course, the dragon, from what I knew, was like any other. Sharp teeth, sharp claws, tough hide, wings capable of flight, fiery breath—and, like any predator, capable of lying in wait, undetected, for ambush.
Finally, I asked him why he wanted to kill it.
“Why? For glory. For honor. For”—he hiccupped and belched so hard I could smell it from across the table (putrid)—“because no knight has ever bested the beast,” which was true. Hundreds had faced the dragon and every one of them had ended up broiled in their armor.
Thankfully, our conversation landed him so deep in his cups (as he insisted on drinking all the way through it) that he passed out at the table.
That made three-hundred and sixty-three days without a dragon attack.
Another knight showed up in town, one Sir Kilbourne, who said he’d be the one to face the dragon.
Sir Kevin arose from the drunken stupor I’d helped him enter from the day before to face his challenger. He claimed that, as he’d arrived first, the dragon was his trophy to claim.
The two agreed to duel in a gentlemanly fashion (despite neither of them even remotely resembling gentlemen). The one rule: first to disarm their opponent would win.
The townspeople all took bets on Sir Kilbourne, as he was the brawnier of the two. To the surprise of all—including me—Sir Kevin’s speed and greater dexterity allowed him to outmaneuver the larger man. Not only did he disarm Kilbourne, but also he slashed off every strap that kept his adversary’s armor tethered to his body.
Sir Kilbourne left, half-naked and embarrassed.
The townspeople, however, now all believed Sir Kevin could defeat the dragon—although I remained skeptical. Still, despite his hangover, that he could move with such swift ease showed he could pose a potential threat at least.
I told him I’d take him to the dragon’s lair tomorrow.
That made three-hundred and sixty-four days without a dragon attack.
I led Sir Kevin to the mouth of the cave at the foothills of the mountains above the town. His blade aloft, he charged into the darkness.
“Come out, foul beast,” he said, “And meet your doom.”
There was no response.
“Where’s the Dragon?”
“Behind you.”
I spent the day helping the publican shingle his new roof. The air still smelt of ash, charred wood, and burnt flesh.
That made one day without a dragon attack.
Born in Tegucigalpa, Francisco Morazán, Honduras, Ian Martínez Cassmeyer lives and works in St. Louis, Missouri. He earned his BA in English from the University of Missouri – St. Louis, attended the James Gunn Center of the Study of Science Fiction Short Fiction Writing Workshop at the University of Kansas – Lawrence, and is an Associate Member of the SFWA. Follow his off-beat takes on X/Twitter (@Ian_SMC), IG/Threads (@ian_s.m.c), BlueSky (@iansmc.bsky.social), and his blog, ianstwocents.blogspot.com.
Devora Johnson is an American Artist who specializes in character design and brand development. From social media profiles pictures and banners to VTuber avatars, she can bring it to life. You can follow her career on X/Twitter @joHns_DevoraRT and on Instagram & Threads @thedevoraartz.
Clever, especially the ending.