The boy staggered into the cave, fell. His breath panted smoke in the cold night air to the rhythmic howling of the dogs which were on his trail.

With a desperate effort, he found the strength to force himself to his feet and took a look around the enclosed space. If he stayed here, he would be torn apart by his master's hunting dogs. Then again, if he returned to the open forest, they would catch him there and he still would be torn apart.

In the flicker of the moonlight, his eyes caught sight of something in the deepest shadows. A slight lightening of colour. With no real hope of escape, the boy pulled himself along the rough wall to inspect its cause.

It was—unbelievably—an entrance to a tunnel, hip-high off the ground. With the sound of the baying dogs growing louder by the heartbeat, the boy managed to pull himself up into the tunnel and into its darkness. He pushed aside his terror enough to realize that the tunnel curved and twisted inside the bowels of the mountain.

As he made his way through, he heard the dogs near. They had to be in the cave. The thought froze him and he expected them to have no trouble finding the hidden tunnel by following his scent. The situation was hopeless. Even if he did manage to find a way out, the dogs would still find him and his end would be the same. Death. Whether by the dogs or by the men who accompanied his master on this hunt.

He looked up and saw that there was a faint light in the distance. He kept on towards it, suddenly aware that he was hearing the dogs only dimly now. Maybe the men had quieted the animals so that they could follow after him. The thought spurred him on. The dogs would be more merciful than the men.

The light grew brighter. There was, he realized, something different about the hue of this light. Not the orange that lit his master's castle. Nor the yellow of sunlight. More of a green.

The light, he discovered when he reached the end of the tunnel, came from the walls of a large cavern. Lines of shimmer that dimly lit the open space. He had never seen anything the like of it. He stared, wondering.

It was only then that he realized that the air inside the cavern was warm, almost unbearably warm compared to the cold of the winter night. His frozen skin began burning in the warmth. Right hand rubbing his bare left arm, the boy had the presence of mind to look around him before trying to get down onto the floor of the cavern.

There was a way, but it required concentration. So much so that he never saw the eyes that were watching him from the far side, in the deepest shadows, waiting for him to find his way down.

"What are you doing here?"

The boy froze. The voice was deep yet light. He had a sense of great power that was being held back but that could prove all- encompassing should the speaker decide.

Slowly the boy turned to face the speaker. Something massive moved in the shadows and the lines of light came to life, brightening as the shape took a step forward.

The boy gasped.

The speaker raised an elegant eyebrow, knowing full well that the boy would need some time to react.

"You're..." The boy gulped audibly. "You're a dragon."

The dragon nodded. "That I am."

The boy was so overwhelmed by the sight that he couldn't move. The dragon waited.

"Well," said the boy, resigned, "at least it will be quicker."

The dragon sat on its haunches. "What will be quicker?"

The boy closed his eyes. All that effort to escape. For nought. "Death."

The dragon craned its long neck forward, took a deep breath over the boy who stood weaving with exhaustion. It could smell the fresh blood that marked the footsteps the boy had taken, the older stains on his torn tunic, his fear. It repressed a sneeze at what it finally identified as man-juice. Under the blood, there was the strong smell of man-juice. The dragon pulled its head back and looked at the boy who was waiting for death.

"There is a pool to the left of you. Wash yourself."

The boy's eyes opened as did his mouth. Years of training stopped the words from spilling out. He nodded, looked around. As he staggered in the direction the dragon had indicated, the walls lit up, making it easy for him to see the pool.

He stood by the side of it, staring at the shimmering water that now reflected the strange lighting. "Please," his voice was hoarse with the experience of this night, "may I drink some?"

The dragon cocked its head at the question. "Yes," it said, "you may."

The boy dropped to his knees, wobbled then caught himself. He leaned over, scooped some of the water in his right hand and bent his head to it. The water was cool and sweet. Refreshing to his dry mouth, soothing to his aching throat. It eased the emptiness in his belly. Carefully, he scooped up another handful. His final meal, he thought. After the third handful, he knew if he had any more, he would be ill.

So he reached instead for the hem of the ragged cloth that covered him and pulled it over his head. He was naked. His master had never allowed him more than the simplest of clothing. He was to be accessible at any time. Holding one of the already torn bits in his mouth, he used his right hand to pull himself a washing rag. Wasn't as though he would ever have occasion to wear the tunic again after this night.

The dragon watched as the boy gingerly washed the mud, the blood, the man-juice off himself. He went about his assigned chore slowly yet thoroughly. He even managed to wash his short black hair. Finally, he seemed to realize that he could not draw the moment out any further. He slowly got to his feet, his skin drying in the warm air, and faced the dragon.

"Oh, I understand," he nodded, speaking softly to himself.

But the dragon had heard him. "What do you understand?"

The boy, naked but clean, warmer than he had been in some time, smiled tiredly at the dragon. "You pluck the feathers off a chicken before eating it."

"Do you?" The dragon's voice was gentle in the soft light.

The boy nodded. "You wouldn't want to swallow them any more than that old tunic I was wearing."

"No, I wouldn't," agreed the dragon. "Certainly not if I ate humans. Which I don't."

The boy's eyes opened wider. "You don't? But the valley is full of stories of people who have been eaten by dragons."

The dragon made a small scoffing sound. "Yes, well. Dragons have no control as to the mythologies of the common man." But it saw that the boy was too tired for that concept. It reached behind it, pulled out a thick fur rug. With a graceful gesture of its head, it tossed the rug to one side of the cavern, towards the wall. "Here. Use this to make yourself a nest," it said.

The boy looked at the dragon, then staggered to the fur cover. There he wrapped himself up, lay down. Before closing his eyes, he glanced up. The dragon could tell he was confused, that he had questions to ask. But once more training won out. The boy closed his eyes, sighed, fell into sleep.

The dragon watched him for some time before it too curled up and went back to its sleep.

The sound of pain woke it up.

The dragon opened an eye, wondering as to the cause of the sound in its lair when it fell upon the boy, now tossing and turning as though trying to avoid something. It raised its head and watched as the boy whimpered "Nnnnnnoooooooo. Please. Nnnnnoooooooo."

The dragon sat up, cocked its head and continued watching as the boy relived an event that made him cry helplessly. Hopelessly.

The dragon approached the boy, sitting so that its body was close to him. At the motion, the light in that part of the cavern had increased. With a little sigh, the dragon began making a sound. Softly at first. Then gradually louder. It wasn't quite a purr: it wasn't feline enough. Nor a growl: it was too gentle for a growl. More of a crooning sound that came from a source deep within the huge body.

It did not wake the boy though somehow it calmed him. The dragon watched as the lines of pain and fear left the boy's visage, as his body stopped trembling. As the smell of fear dissipated, the boy dropped into a deep and healing slumber.

Then, the dragon bent its head, took an edge of the cover in its mouth and pulled it away from the boy. The dragon placed its head close to the boy so that it could better see. By the greater light, it could now make out the scars of old whippings, the open gashes of recent ones on the boy's body. The open sores of unhealed burns and bite marks. The feet that had been cut to ribbons in the boy's pursuit through the forest.

It could see that the left arm lay on the bedding with an un- natural angle between the shoulder and the elbow. Thinking on it, the dragon realized that the boy had kept that arm hidden from it, that he had not used it since his arrival in its lair.

The dragon's head hovered just over the boy. His scent was not that bad, thought the dragon. It was man-scent, of course, but really not that unpleasant. One could get used to it.

With a small nod of its head, the dragon opened its mouth and stuck out the tip of a long, thinnish, purple tongue. With it, the dragon flicked the boy's cheek. It caught a taste of boy, the slight roughness of a beginning beard. So the boy was older than he looked, thought the dragon. Out of childhood but not yet a grown man.

It slowly began licking the boy's body, as though tasting other parts. As its saliva dried on the places its tongue had wet, wounds also dried up and healed, leaving smooth skin as the old scars gradually disappeared. When it had done with the boy's back, the dragon used the tip of its nose to turn the boy over so that it could work its healing on the boy's front. With bare attention, it noted that the boy had hair under his arms, that his groin was fully bushed. That his ribs stood out in stark relief, his hip bones jutted out.

Unfortunately there was not much it could do for the boy's arm: the break had been too badly mended for its healing powers. Still, the arm would be of more use than it had been. The soft structure of it would be stronger.

When the dragon was content with the condition of the boy, it gently recovered him and went back to its nest on the other side of the cavern.

The boy woke without waking.

Dream-like, he wriggled in the soft warmth, sighed and went back to sleep until the strangeness of the situation made him wake again.

He lay still, carefully going through his usual rituals on waking. No, nothing ached. Not his back. Not his ass. Not his asshole. So he had not been beaten nor taken. In fact, when he thought about it, he could not remember ever feeling this unhurting.

Nor this—for lack of a better word—safe.

He listened carefully. Oh, he could hear the breathing of another. But it was deeper than what he was used to hearing. Soothing, when he thought on it. But no familiar sounds. No dogs...

And then he remembered.

His master, drunk along with his men, passing him among them. Laughing when he begged him. Setting the dogs on him when someone had decided it would be a treat to hunt him.

He sat up suddenly, eyes wide open at the terror of it all. To the sight of the dragon watching him with drowsy eyes.

For some time, they merely looked at each other. When the boy regained control over his breathing, he dared, "Please, may I drink again?"

"As much as you please," said the dragon. "You need not ask my permission. It is there for that purpose."

The boy stood, letting the cover slide off his body. He moved hesitantly to the pool, only to stop and examine his feet by the now brightening light. Then he noticed that his body was healed. He checked himself, front and back. Was finally aware that he could raise his left arm. Nowhere near as high as his right, but enough so that he could scoop water and bring it up to his bent head. Far more than he ever had been able to since his master had broken it when he had reached for some food without permission.

He turned to speak to the dragon, to ask it how this was possible when he heard the noise.

The dragon heard it too but ignored it. The boy couldn't. He began trembling again, knowing that it was the sound of men approaching.

"They come only into the cave," said the dragon. "They never come in here."

The words did not do much to reassure the boy as he stood unmoving, barely breathing until the sound faded away.

"After you finish drinking," said the dragon, "would you be so kind as to go into the cave and bring back the food you will find there?"

"Go?" whispered the boy, losing the last of the warmth he had wakened with.

"And come back," said the dragon. "I am hungry and, though they cook the meat," it grimaced, "I do need to feed on it."

"I may come back?"

The dragon looked at the disbelieving boy whose eyes were far too old for his body. "Yes," it spoke gently. "How else will the food get here if you don't bring it back?"

This was a dream, thought the boy as he made his way cautiously down the tunnel, back to the cave. Dragons no more existed than his body was unscarred than he had found a place to be safe for any time, no matter how short.

At the entrance of the tunnel, he peered carefully around the side of the opening, looking for any who would wake him from this beautiful dream of his. But there was no one. Only a pile of food stacked in the back of the cave near his location. He slid down and, eyes peeled for the sign of any presence, he filled his arms with as many of the baskets he could carry. It was only when he placed them in front of the dragon that he realized that they bore fruits, meats, pies, pastries, rolls of bread made from the finest of flours.

"There's more," said the boy as he rushed back to the cave. There was so much maybe there would be enough for him to have a mouthful or two after the dragon ate its fill, thought the boy. He carefully placed the second batch next to the first and stood back, waiting for the dragon's next orders.

The dragon cocked it head at the boy. "Aren't you hungry?"

The boy nodded. He looked at neither the food nor the dragon. Another lesson hard learnt.

"Then eat," said the dragon.

The boy could not hide his surprise. "I may eat? Before you?"

The dragon nodded its head and watched as the boy hesitantly picked out a roll of bread.

"Is that all you want?"

The boy held on tightly to his treasure. He nodded. "It has been some time since I last ate," whispered the boy. "More than this would make me ill." And he remembered too well the taste of regurgitated food he had been forced to eat.

"Take more for later," said the dragon. "Another of the bread and some of the meat. I know your kind likes the taste of it cooked. And take some of the apples."

Now more than ever certain that he was in a dream, the boy carefully removed a leg from a roasted chicken, took two apples from another basket and still another of the rolls. With fearful anticipation he made his way to his furs where he sat cross- legged and nibbled on his feast while the dragon devoured the food, including the baskets made of willow.

The boy was glad that the dragon had forced him to take more of the food. He wondered how long he would have to ration it. The dragon seemed to know what he was thinking. "They will be back on the morrow with more," it said.

The boy rested back against the smooth rock wall. He carefully broke off small pieces of the bread which he chewed until it was almost liquid. It took very little to fill his belly and he savoured every mouthful. And thought as he did so.

The cave he now knew from having gathered the food was a site of offering of the Old Religion. The religion that was still followed by the people though not by the Lords. Not that he had been welcomed by either, but the boy knew that the offerings were supposed to be presented once a month during the presence of one of the Powers, the term used by the Old Religion for the dragons. If the dragon said there would be more offerings the next day, it must mean that others than those who lived in the valley presented them.

The dragon watched as the boy fell asleep, his roll still firmly clutched in his hand.

This time when he woke, the boy knew where he was. Quietly, so as not to wake the sleeping dragon, he went to drink at the pool, finished eating his roll. He sat on a small ledge and, barely moving, waited for the dragon to wake from its after-eating nap.

Now that he was rested, his sight no longer blurred with terror, his stomach actually comfortably filled, he took the time to examine the cavern and its occupant.

The space was high, so much so that the boy wondered it the mountain were completely hollow. The base where the dragon slept and he sat was at least three...no, four times the size of his master's great hall. The dragon itself was easily the same size.

The boy rested his head against the wall. The dragon was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Its head was triangular in form, with pointed ears that seemed to be forever alert. Its eyes were black but not frightening. Not like the master's mastiff whose eyes were also black but who so liked to tear living creatures apart.

Its neck was long but widened so that it sat strongly on shoulders that were so wide they would have trouble fitting through the castle's portal. From the little he had seen of its body, it made him think of the mistress's cat, an enormous feline that was powerful yet graceful. Except for the mistress herself, it attacked anything that came within its reach. The boy had the scratches to testify to that. Well, he looked at his arms, he had had.

The whole of the dragon was covered with a variety of what seemed to be scales. Smaller ones on its head, neck and legs with larger ones on its body. In the faint light, the boy sat in awe of the shimmering gold-greens with hints of blue that were the dragon's colour. Colour that rippled through one tinge to the other as the dragon breathed, its hot breath—the probable source of the cavern's warmth—rising to the top of the cavern roof where a small hole allowed it to escape into the cold outside air.

The boy smiled to himself. It was said in the valley that when one could see small clouds of smoke rising from the mountain top it was a sure sign of the presence of one of the Powers. The mistress was not fond of the Old Religion and had insisted—on pain of whipping—that it never be mentioned in her presence or that of her children. Still, it had been whispered about in the stables where the boy often hid until it became too dangerous to hide from his master.

The dragon too had taken the opportunity to examine the boy. It had seen his body, now it watched as eyes alertly inspected the cavern, as a mind worked at accessing the situation. When not cowed and in terror for his life, the boy had courage. But what to do with him?

The dragon rose to its feet, stretched its long neck and body. The boy sat silently marvelling at the show of colour and light.

The dragon moved to drink at the pool and the boy noticed that the dragon had a tail whose length balanced out the neck and head. The dragon noticed that, though the boy sat very still as it approached him, his heart rate did not speed up and he did not radiate fear.

It sat and lowered its head so that they could see each other, eye to eye.

"Do you have a name?" asked the dragon.

The boy remained silent.

The dragon pulled its head back up. "I apologize if I offended," said the dragon. "I am not certain of the customs of men as regards the sharing of their name."

"I am not offended," the boy hurried to say. "I just had to think. No one has used my name since my mother died. And I wasn't sure that I remembered it. It is Alex. Alexander, really. But she always called me Alex."

"Ah-lex," said the dragon, getting its tongue around what to it seemed a strange name.

"Do you have a name?" asked the boy.

The dragon smiled at him. It was obvious that he did not know of the customs of dragons as regarded the sharing of their name. Still. "I am Rhaskelshara, she-dragon of the Bjerqua."

The boy stood. With a graceful bow he accepted this unknown gift of the dragon. "I am greatly pleased to meet you, Rhaskelshara. And I thank you for your kindness toward me."

The boy, Alex, stayed with the dragon. After getting her permission, he actively inspected the contents of the cavern. Over the years, there had been more than food offered by the dwellers in the valley. He found a chest that contained some clothing. Tunics of rare silk, soft boots that were too big for him but which protected his feet when he went out to gather the offerings.

Without being asked, Alex tided up the cavern, sweeping away the debris and the dust that had accumulated over time, removing a pile of whitened bones mixed in with shreds of fur. Bear, explained Rhaskelshara when she saw the worried look on Alex's face when he came across them. They often found their way in, she added, when she was not in residence.

Rhaskelshara knew that he did all that to show her that he was of use to her, so that she would not order him to leave. She knew this because, for all his quiet acceptance when awake, asleep the boy suffered nightmares from which he woke in terror, trembling, his body covered in the foul sweat of fear.

Rhaskelshara would croon to him then, sending the boy into dreamless sleep, but she noticed that gradually his nest was moving further from the wall and closer to her at night. She made no comment, pretended not to notice, until she realized one night that the boy was sleeping snugly against her. Quietly. With only the slightest of murmurs. And then even those died out.

One night however, when Alex was preparing for sleep, Rhaskelshara rose to her feet and shook her head. "It is the night of the Black Moon," she said. "I am going flying."

Alex watched as the dragon turned and headed for the back of her nest. And disappeared.

Heart racing from some unnameable fear, Alex quickly followed to find that the wall behind her was a shimmer of waves that allowed him through to a new valley he knew nothing about.

He stood by the shimmer and watched as Rhaskelshara spread out her wings and stretched her body—tail and all—to its full length.

"Will you come back?" asked Alex, mournful in spite of the vision before him.

Rhaskelshara looked over her shoulder at the boy. Her sight in the cavern was not good. Light blurred images for dragons, but here, in the blackness of the night, she could see the whiteness of his skin, the darkness of his hair which he had cut short, the greenness of his eyes which were a good match for the green of her scales.

And the sad expectation on his face.

"Go back and get one of the fur cloaks that you found. And a length of rope. Hurry."

She nearly laughed aloud at the breathless return of the boy. "Put the cloak on fur side in and tie it to yourself with the rope around your waist. Now then, climb onto my shoulder...Good....and from there to where my neck meets my body. There you will find a blue scale, bluer than those around it. If you slip your hand under that scale, you will find a hard ridge. Hold onto that. You will find it easier if you lie flat on your stomach. Ready? Hold on."

And with that Rhaskelshara gave a strong downward beat of her great wings and her body lifted from the ground.

After the days of sleepy confinement in the cavern, it was a joy for Rhaskelshara to feel the air under her wings, to smell the freshness of the night. The weight on her back was slight, almost negligible, but she never forgot that her rider was new to this. She held back her power until she heard a sound that she'd never yet heard from the boy. She looked over her shoulder and both saw and heard the laughter. Alex was propped up on his elbows, head twisting and turning in order not to miss a sight. He noticed she was watching him and he grinned at her, his delight obvious.

"Hold on tight, Alex," said Rhaskelshara and she flew for herself.

The night was perfect. The full moon was indeed black, jet against the blackness of the sky with its sharp points of jewel lights. And, in the distance, one could make out the shapes of others who were also celebrating the special magic of the Black Moon.

Rhaskelshara's heart always burst with joy when she flew at this time. There was something that just made it special and she exulted in the pleasure of the moment.

In her joy, she dove up into the night sky, twirling, having forgotten the passenger she carried on her shoulders. A sharp scream reminded her of Alex as she felt him slip and slide off her. With a quick flip of her tail, she changed direction and went after the falling boy, getting under him and catching him between her wing and shoulder. She was pleased when Alex wasted no time getting back to his place, once more taking hold of the ridge.

She said nothing but spent the rest of the time flying more sedately. Alex made no sounds. When a hint of sunlight appeared on the horizon, Rhaskelshara headed back for the cavern.

Alex slid down and waited for her inside, his head bowed, his hands clenching at either side of him. "I'm sorry," he whispered when she had settled comfortably in her nest. "Please, don't send me away."

Rhaskelshara yawned. All the flying had pleasantly tired her out. But the boy radiated fear and hopelessness again and she had to deal with that.

She lowered her head onto her front feet, the claws shinning silver in the faint light of the cavern. "What did you do that I should send you away?"

"I tried to sit up," whispered Alex. "My hand slipped."

"Why did you want to sit up?"

"To see the stars. To feel the air."

Rhaskelshara smiled. "Next time," she said through another yawn, "we will have to find a way of harnessing you down so that I don't lose you again."

"Next time?" Alex had been expecting a beating at best, being told to leave at worst. His voice was incredulous. "There will be a next time?"

"Next night of the Black Moon," promised Rhaskelshara as she slipped into sleep.

Alex sat where he had stood and watched her as she slept, his feelings for her making his eyes brilliant even in the faint light of the cavern.

There were advantages, thought Rhaskelshara, to having the boy around. One day, when she went out to her side of the mountain for a good scratch, Alex waited until she was done then climbed onto her back and methodically—Oh, so wonderfully methodically!—felt under each and every one of her scales and gently scratched the skin. The pleasure was almost as great as that of flying under the Black Moon. It took a full day after which the boy slept another, but it was such a joy to her that he regularly offered to do it.

And then there was the raw meat that suddenly appeared one morning in the form of two large sheep.

"I didn't know whether you ate them alive or dead," said Alex, shyly blushing with the offer of his gift to her.

"Dead," she told him, wondering why anyone would think that dragons ate anything alive. "Though you need not skin them. I eat them whole."

Rhaskelshara was doubly touched by the gift because she knew that Alex had not gone beyond the cave and its offerings since he'd arrived. She wondered at the courage of this man-child who faced the possibility of encountering his demons just to provide her with fresh meat. And not just sheep. A cow now and then. Once a bull.

They found a way to turn strips of one of the fur cloaks into a harness so that Alex could sit on her shoulders without fear of falling off when they went flying. The boy shared her pleasure at the high dives, the low swoops, the almost dizzying twirls. And somehow, because it bought him such pleasure, it made hers all the sweeter.

But as Alex well knew, all good things must come to an end. And it was with much fear that he returned from one of his forays with not only sheep but also the news that the dwellers of the valley who followed the New Religion had determined to put an end to the stories of dragons and Powers, to the smoke that clouded over the top of the mountain. To the disappearing sheep and cattle.

They had, he told Rhaskelshara, called in a DragonSlayer.

Alex waited for some reaction from Rhaskelshara. "I should not," he said, ready to assume blame, "have taken the sheep and cattle from one area of the valley. I should have taken the time to go further. That way, they would not have noticed so much."

Rhaskelshara yawned. She was very lethargic these days and found it hard to drum up any reaction to Alex's news. Alex spent the day sharpening the head of an old spear that he had found in a corner of the cavern. His sleep was restless that night.

Still, the next morning, Rhaskelshara did wish she had listened a little harder. Especially when she opened her eyes and saw the man watching her from the tunnel opening.

"By the Deity, there *is* a dragon!"

The strange voice woke Alex who, once he caught sight of the knight, rolled away from his nest by Rhaskelshara's side and grabbed the spear. With no thought to himself, he positioned himself in front of Rhaskelshara, ready to take on the man who, besides being armoured, was bettered armed than he was. And who was bigger than he was.

Slowly, the man made his way down to the floor of the cavern.

"That's close enough," yelled Alex. "Don't come any nearer."

The man raised his hand to his helmet and lifted the visor. "Not only a dragon, but the boy as well."

Alex tightened his grip on the spear. If the knight knew him, it could only mean that it was someone who had seen him with his master. Knowing that he had no real chance of success, Alex attacked the knight who had no trouble at all getting him onto the floor and disarming him.

Alex rolled to his feet and placed himself once more between the knight and Rhaskelshara. "Leave her alone. She's done nothing. I'm the one who stole the sheep and the cattle. Take me instead."

The knight removed his helmet and pulled off his gauntlets. Alex swallowed the sharp taste of defeat in his mouth. "I remember you. Sir Walter. You accompanied my master when he returned from his tour of duty with the King last year."

Sir Walter nodded. He remembered the beautiful boy who had been roughly handled after the women had retired.

"I remember the way you looked at me," said Alex. His body now cold in the warmth of the cavern, he raised his hand to the pin that held up his tunic and released it. The silk formed a puddle at his feet. "I will give you what you want. I will go with you voluntarily and you can do whatever it is you want to me. Just allow her to leave."

Sir Walter tried to convince his eyes they didn't want to stare at the beauty displayed in front of them. The boy had been gently treated recently. His ribs were no longer obvious. His skin was unblemished. He stood proudly offering himself to a man who had, on seeing him once, desired him. Who had thought of the gentleness he would show the boy if only he could get him away from his master.

"Oh! It's beginning!"

Walter looked from the boy around the area, trying to see who had spoken.

Alex turned quickly around and faced Rhaskelshara. "What's beginning?"

Rhaskelshara smiled at him. "Why the birth, of course."

"The birth!" Two male voices spoke as one.

"Well," said Rhaskelshara, a little breathless as another spasm hit, "this *is* my birthing haven and my child has decided it now wishes to be born."

"Birthing haven!" Again the two male voices spoke as one.

Alex turned to face Walter. "Sir Knight, I know nothing about birthing dragons. Do you?"

Walter shook his head. "Bitches. Mares. I have some experience with those. But dragons? I never truly believed they existed until now."

Alex pulled on his tunic and looked about the cavern as though hoping that it would speak to him and tell him what to do. Walter stood there, muttering to himself.

Rhaskelshara winced as another spasm swept through her. "Not to worry," she told them. "This is not my first."

Rhaskelshara panted between labour and watched as Walter made a small fire and placed a pot of water on it to boil. The occupation seemed to soothe him.

Alex was of even less help. He stood by Rhaskelshara's head, wincing and panting along with her when she was in labour, bringing her water to drink when she was not. He hovered as though constantly needing to be reassured that she was well.

It was beginning to irritate her. Dragons were private creatures at the best of times. More so in times of labour. And here she not only had Alex to deal with but a knight who was ostensibly here to kill her. "I am not going to die,' she snapped at Alex when he asked her for what seemed to be the thousandth time how she was feeling.

"My mother did."

Walter looked up from his fire. Rhaskelshara turned her head to look into Alex's eyes.

"The baby was in the wrong position. She screamed for hours then stopped. And then I was alone."

Rhaskelshara's tongue gave Alex's tense face a gentle swipe. "I am not your mother, Alex." She tried to reassure him. "The babe is in the right position and dragons do not scream."

Alex nodded and went to sit on the ledge that he had adopted as his.

Walter shared a look of worry with Rhaskelshara. He got up, went to the boy. "When her time is nearer, she will need you. There will be things for you to do. But it will take some time, lad. Maybe you had best get some rest. One of us should be fresh for when she needs us."

Alex nodded listlessly. Without meeting either of their eyes, he got his fur rug and wrapped himself up in it.

Rhaskelshara waited until Alex slept to challenge the man. "Sir Walter, the DragonSlayer, eh?"

Walter met it sheepishly. "You would be surprised to know how many dragon lairs are found to have large bears in them."

"Would I indeed?"

The babe was born smoothly though Walter would never have sworn to it. Alex was there as the babe slipped out, ready to do anything Rhaskelshara would ask of him. She took a couple of deep breaths after the birth and raised herself to lick the wetness off her child. Alex was already gently wiping the small dragon — Well, small for a dragon. About the size of his fully grown dreiser, thought Walter— with the woollen tunic he wore for flying, softly speaking to the babe as it mewed not protestingly at the treatment.

Alex sat back on his heels as the babe, aided by a nudge of Rhaskelshara's nose, found its way to a nipple under a scale on her belly.

The two men and the dragon watched as the babe happily slurped its first meal.

"Do you know what it is?" Walter had given up trying to sex the babe.

"A male-child," said Rhaskelshara.

"Do you have a name for him?" asked Alex.

Rhaskelshara was about to say no when she caught the expression on Alex's face. He stood watching her, knowing that his time with her was at an end. That, though she had survived childbirth, he would once more be alone.

"Yes," she said. "I do. I thought that Alexander would be a name he could grow into."

"You'll have something to remember me by," said Alex. "I will never forget you."

Walter went and placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. "It will be all right," he said, knowing the boy did not believe him.

Alex slept that night against the far wall. He had only looked once with longing at the place by Rhaskelshara's side now occupied by her son.

Walter tried sleeping but gave it up. He set about making a travel pack.

"Can't sleep?" whispered Rhaskelshara.

Walter turned to her with a smile. "Old war horses don't sleep much."

Rhaskelshara made a soft scoffing sound. The man was older than Alex, but not that old. "You'll take care of Alex."

Walter wondered why he was not surprised by the certainly in the dragon's voice. "Yes."

"You'll find him easy to love."

Walter understood now why dragons were considered to be magical. They could read one's heart. "Yes."

The next morning, Rhaskelshara nursed Alexander and watched him take his first exploratory steps in the cavern. His colour was a dull brown but the blues of his sex would gradually appear as he aged.

"What is that horn at the end of his nose?" asked Alex.

"It for him to grip the ridge under the blue scale when we fly back. It will fall off soon after we get home."

Alex nodded, accepting. "When will you leave?"

"This evening."

For the rest of the day if Alex wasn't watching the babe, he was watching Rhaskelshara. He asked nothing of her, knowing that she could not grant him his dream. It would be enough that he had had this time with her. He would remember this cavern and his time spent here as treasures he had been blessed with. But now, as it was time for Rhaskelshara to return to her kind, it was time for him to return to his.

He tried not to think of what lay in the future for him. He hoped this time would give him the courage to face whatever it brought him.

When evening arrived, they all went out to the hidden valley together.

Alex and Walter watched as the babe hesitantly made his way up his mother's back, his little paws slipping and sliding on her scales. Without a word, Alex went to help him, gently shoving and then tugging him into the place he had known such happiness. When he was certain that the babe's hook was well placed, he nestled against the small dragon and held him close. Rhaskelshara's fine hearing caught the whispered, "Take care, Little Brother." Then, with a final hug for the babe, Alex slipped off her.

With no further word, Rhaskelshara stretched her wings and, with a mighty heave, took flight.

Alex and Walter stood standing until there was not even a spec in the darkening sky.

Inside the cavern, Walter picked up the pack he had put together in the night.

"What will happen to me now?" Alex asked.

"Now," said Walter, handing Alex the pack then putting on his helmet, "you will come with me. We will go to my home. It's in another valley and I think you may like it there."

Alex slung the pack over his back and followed Walter, now once more Sir Knight the DragonSlayer.

They were riding through a nearby village, Walter on his dreiser, Alex on his pack horse, when Alex noticed that it was significantly larger than the last time he has seen it the night of his pursuit through the forest.

Walter turned to look at the man next to him. "That night was five years ago, Alex."

Alex looked stunned. He opened his mouth to challenge Walter's statement and then closed it again. His training once more reasserted itself. He would not question the statements of his master. Still, as he thought it through, he would have said five months at the longest. At a stop, Walter took Alex to the river to water the horses. Before he allowed them to, he told Alex to look at his reflection in the water.

The face that stared back at him was not that of a boy, but that of a man.

The Epilogue

Rhaskelshara returned to her birthing haven. The Old Religion has been pretty well pushed aside by the New, but that was all right. In these, the last months of her pregnancy, she did not require much by way of feeding. She could hibernate as she usually did. Except for that last time.

Still, one morning, something woke her. She looked up to see an old man staring down at her from the tunnel entrance. When he realized that she was watching him, he moved out to where she could see him better. There he stood, leaning on his cane, while she looked him over.

His hair was cropped short but she could see that it was snowy white. As were the eyebrows that bushed over two green eyes that were the only thing left of the boy who had stayed with her that last time.

He bowed to her formally. "Have I the honour of addressing Rhaskelshara, she-dragon of the Bjerqua?"

"That you have," she answered, just as formally.

"May I inquire if you are again with child, Madame?"

"You may and I am."

"And the other child, is he well?"

Rhaskelshara smiled. "Alexander has the courage of his namesake. Right now he is away with his sire, learning the lessons that all dragons need to know. He does his name proud."

They were silent for some moments then Rhaskelshara asked, "Did you remain with the DragonSlayer?"

The old man smiled. "Yes. He was good to me. He loved me."

Rhaskelshara nodded. She did however notice that the love went only in one direction.

"He died recently."

"Ah."

The old man leaned on his cane. "I made him journey back here once, in hopes of seeing you, but though I saw the entrance to the tunnel, he never did. He was fond of the New Religion."

Yes, thought Rhaskelshara, that would explain it. "And you?"

"I attended with him because it gave him pleasure. And, besides, I knew you weren't here."

At Rhaskelshara's raised eyebrows, he explained. "I paid a local to send me word should there ever appear clouds of smoke over the top of the mountain. His son recently sent me a message to that effect."

Rhaskelshara watched as the old man straightened his back, stood strong. "I know that I am old but, please, I would like to be with you when this babe is born."

"When my daughter is born?"

"You already know that it will be a female?"

"The holding scale takes on different hues depending on the sex of the babe. It is bluer with males, greener with females."

"Then, please, Rhaskelshara, may I be allowed to participate at the birthing of your daughter?"

Rhaskelshara smiled at him. "I would be pleased if you did."

The old man made his careful way down to the floor of the cavern. When he came up to the dragon, he dropped his cane and put his arms around her neck, holding tight.

"I love you so," Alex whispered, his voice raw with emotion.

Rhaskelshara nuzzled the boy who was just a bit older than the last time she had seen him. "Welcome home, child."

In the times that followed, those living in the valley always knew when the dragon had taken residence in her lair. Then there were smoky clouds present over the top of the mountain. And sheep and cattle disappeared.

The End

| X-files Index | Fiction Index | Main Page |