A companion article.

CHAPTER 12: "The Great Terror"

SIR GALEN

"Strike like you mean it," Sir Galen commanded, as the Prince pulled himself off the hard earth.

Prince Richard, composed, raised his wooden sword again, in preparation for whatever move his teacher might make. "I don't mean it, though," he told Sir Galen. "This training is cumbersome."

Sir Galen raised a bushy eyebrow. "Cumbersome? If only your high-born words could cut down an enemy, my Prince. Strike again."

The Prince came at Sir Galen, steady arms, but vulnerable feet. Sir Galen met the Prince's blow, gave him a left shin kick, then brought his wooden sword down to whack him in the arse.

The Prince groaned in pain, "Gods be good... must I die?! Would that satisfy you?"

Sir Galen informed him, "If you want to chase dragons with the Lion Knight, then you will surely die, unless you learn swiftness."

"Dragons do not have swords, Sir Galen."

The weathered captain grabbed the Prince by the ear, a crime that might be punishable by death, had the Lord seen it, had the Lord cared. Prince Richard winced, and Sir Galen leaned in to make sure this message was delivered deep into the Prince's mind. "Dragons do not have swords, no. But you are no knight of the Order, my Prince. Your enemies will have swords. They won't fly. They won't breathe fire. Your enemies are the kind that will find you in the dark and slit your throat."

He let go of the Prince's ear and it began to bleed a little.

Sir Galen continued, "You are a Prince. A time will come when you will need to show the world that you are not weak. Thankfully, that time has not yet come."

"I could have you hanged for the way you speak to me," Prince Richard warned him, hand to his throbbing ear.

"Your father wants a man out of you," Sir Galen reminded him. "He will not hang me. He needs me because you need me."

The Prince looked like he wanted to say more, but he did not. "Sister!" the Prince called out to one of the women in blue stationed under a canopy by the practice field. "Might I get some water? If you would, kindly?"

The Sister hurried over with a canteen for the Prince, who sipped it, water dribbling down his chin. He gulped and told Sir Galen, "I'm starting to think that hunting the dragon does not sound enticing anymore."

"Perhaps you felt left out because your friend is gone," Sir Galen suggested. He had noticed that the Prince and Jason we're getting... close. Galen's spy had noticed this too, and reported that Jason's lessons in the common tongue often lasted for many hours. The spy heard, too, through the cracks in the doorway, the way that the Prince and Jason often broke from lessons to talk about anything and everything.

Sir Galen questioned him further. "My Prince, does anything strike you as odd regarding our dear Jason?"

"Jason? Odd?" The Prince asked. "No, not odd. Just different."

Sir Galen tried to distinguish whether the Prince knew and hid the truth, or if he was just simply oblivious. The Prince did not have the spine to lie, though, that much Sir Galen knew. So, oblivious he was, easy to fool, easy to manipulate.

The Prince took a towel from the Sister and wiped his chin. He handed it back to her and said, "Thank you, my lady." The Sister smiled and left.

The Prince turned back to Sir Galen. "Jason would like me to accompany him to a performance by a theatre troupe tonight. I would like to end our training now. I would prefer to draw a bath before I depart at twilight."

Sir Galen nodded in approval. "We will resume on the morrow," he said. "Perhaps Jason will join us for combat training one of these days. Lord Gerard insisted it when the boy arrived."

"I'll convince him," the Prince sighed. "Sir Galen."

"My Prince?"

"Teach me. Don't beat me."

"Whatever my Prince desires," Sir Galen vowed. But beating is teaching, the knight reminded himself. That was a lesson he carried with him since childhood.

"Good night, Sir Galen," Prince Richard said, vacating the yard.

ARI

The Prince was dressed in his finery, and Ari simply in a stable boy's smock. They did not look like they were "together," but Ari felt "together." She felt like she was part of something bigger than herself, a half of a whole.

"No sign of the beast?" Prince Richard asked as they walked to the theatre.

"No," Ari answered. "We searched the cave, and Barnacle tried to track the dragon but... nothing. I am afraid."

"Of the dragon?"

"Of not seeing it," Ari replied. She hated the unknown, feared it. The unknown and unseen were truly what killed you.

"Well, that won't be a problem for long," Prince Richard said, pointing ahead to where the show was to be located.

The "Blue Diamond Theatre" was maybe a kilometer outside the castle walls, and was no more than a small, square wooden platform, with two purple curtains concealing the "stage." Ari and Prince Richard had arrived just before twilight. A woman came to light the lanterns on either side of the stage.

"I imagine that we might need to stand," Prince Richard said, looking around for a seat, finding none.

"We the --we are the-- only ones here," Ari noticed.

"That gentleman might be in attendance," the Prince said, pointing to a heavyset drunkard snoring atop of bail of hay off to the side of the stage.

Ari smiled. From behind the curtains, she could hear music playing, an awful ratty tune. When the curtains drew, she could see an eclectic trio consisting of a pale blue face-painted lutenist, a bone-thin woman plucking a hammered dulcimer and a tall, chubby man who banged a wooden spoon on his metal pot of a drum. The music they played was more noise than music.

A tiny man in a jester's garb emerged onto the stage. Ari recognized him as Bard. He announced to his audience of two, "Terror!"

Gasps were heard, not from the audience, but from three women in costume who joined Bard on stage.

"Desolation!" Bard cried again.

Gasps.

Ari and Prince Richard chuckled.

"Danger befalls the great city of Nightingshire!" From behind the three gasping women came the "roar" of the great beast, a piercing shriek resembling a crow's. Then the "beast" appeared, a burly man in a shimmery green bodysuit. Bard pretended to be frightened by his arrival, dropping into a fetal position.

"Behold!" he yelled. "The Dragon of Nightingshire!"

The dragon let out another caw and flapped its wings. The beast reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small bag.

"A beast with breath of fire!" Bard yelled.

The dragon opened his bag, letting out a cloud of orange dust onto the gasping ladies. Their gasps turned to wails of agony, as they were "burned alive," with the exception of one who merely choked on the dust, hurling her into a coughing fit.

"Who will save us?!" Bard cried. "Who will end this senseless murder?!"

"I shall vanquish the demon before thee!" yelled a voice from off stage. Coming in from the left was its owner, a tall, thin, "knight" armored with a hollowed keg around his torso and a chamber pot for a helmet.

"Osha be good..." Ari said, pursing her lips, fighting a laugh.

"It is I, Sir Oliver!" the actor yelled. "I have come to vanquish the dragon." Winking at the crowd, he said, "But only for coin."

"The resemblance is uncanny," joked the Prince.

The dragon hissed one more time at Sir Oliver, and the knight pulled out his wooden longsword. "Die, vile beast!" he yelled. "Back to the Hell from whence you came!" Sir Oliver bashed the dragon over the head with the wooden sword.

"Ah! Bloody Hells..." the dragon said, a little out of character, as he fell down slowly to his "death."

Bard shot upright from his fetal position and clamored. "Behold, the great Sir Oliver!" He grabbed the knight actor's hand and raised it high (to about the knight's chest). "Slayer of dragons! Bringer of peace! Breaker of Wind!"

The actors bowed, and Ari and Prince Richard applauded, laughing.

The rest of the actors stood up as well, bowed, and when they rose, the woman who lit the lanterns pulled the curtains closed once more.

"I am glad I witnessed this," Prince Richard said, turning to Ari.

"I am thankful Sir Oliver did not," she laughed.