"Tales From the Real World" by Ben Cameron

Damsel in Distress

  “She is rumoured to be the most beautiful in all the land…”

  Sir Uthero of Berring perked up at the story-weaver’s words.  This could be more interesting than the usual tales of little girls in red cloaks or talking bears.

  “…she sleeps locked in the highest room of the tallest tower of castle so old ivy has covered the walls and the gardens are canopied by overgrown trees.  Still, both her and her castle is for the knight noble and brave enough to rescue her.”

  No thought entered Uthero’s mind of how old the princess must be, sleeping there for so many years, nor of how many knights must have tried for the same prize, but instead of her beauty.  For was he not a knight, noble and brave to boot?

  “The only catch,” the story-weaver continued, hands clasped in front of him, “is the fire-breathing dragon that guards her day and night, for dragons never sleep.”

  As a chivalrous and brave knight should, he waved aside the fears of his life from his wife: “No good knight could live in this world, knowing a Lady such as herself was held against her will.”

  And with that, he called for his squires to help him don his armour and mount his noble steed.  Grasping his lance he charged off to rescue the lovely maiden.

  Later that night he returned, rather sheepishly, to the castle to ask his squires to come with him, for he needed help setting up camp at night.

  For months they travelled together, him and his squires, only calling a rest to their travels at night when their horses were near exhaustion.

  He traversed vale and hill, ford and plain.  Snow-capped mountains and rolling deserts passed him by, yet still he pressed onwards, till late one evening, with the sun setting over the wheat fields, he saw the castle.  Her castle.

  Night was no time to fight a dragon, and besides, it was dark, so instead he called his squires to set up camp and he dreamed of the poetry with which he would greet the Lady and the jewels he’d brought to give to her.

  The rising sun brought with it morning, and woke both horse and knight.  Sir Uthero mounted his steed after a large breakfast, and rode his steed towards the castle.

  At the beginning of the wheat field, he stopped and stared at his adversary.  The dragon lay coiled around the castle’s outer walls and though his eyes were closed, Sir Uthero knew he would never underestimate the dragon.

  Closing his helm, he brought his steed round to face the dragon.  With an urgent nudge of his feet, they started forward.

  The dragon didn’t move, but a trickle of smoke escaped his snout, perhaps from a particularly funny thought.

  Sir Uthero’s trot turned into a canter as the wheat was crushed beneath his steed’s hooves.  The wind whistled past his helm and his gaze narrowed as he fixed on the dragon’s belly.

  The dragon rubbed his scales slowly against the masonry, easing an itch.

  Sir Uthero raised his lance and urged his steed into a gallop.  His muscles clenched and he braced for the impact of metal to scale as the ground blurred beneath him.

  The dragon yawned, a large yawn.  He burped, just a little one from last night’s dinner, but a burp nonetheless and a belch of fire escaped the dragon’s snout and incinerated the charging knight.

  “Excuse me,” said the dragon, and he patted his stomach gently.  Apparently yesterday’s knight wasn’t sitting too well.

  Still, he picked up Uthero’s armour and jewels with two claws and deposited them safely in the highest room of the tallest tower.  It was, after all, the only place left in the castle to put his treasure: his rumour was proving just a tad too effective.