1Prologue
Hear now as I tell you the story of He Who Shook Hands With The Dragon.
They call him The Champion Of Old King Zordonis, The Blessed Of Saint Agathias, The Dragonkin. But before he became the Virtuous King of all of Christendom, he was simply known as Sir Jason Scott of the hamlet of Angel Grove.
When brave Sir Scott, the last of the willing knights of the vassal hamlet of Angel Grove, arrived into the dragon's chamber, he was greeted by the mingled scents of acrid sulfur and burned human flesh.
"Come no closer!" the dragon warned. Even in human form, his eyes were green and serpentine, his teeth the venomous fangs of the viper, his tongue forked like a snake, his breath the poisonous vapor of sulfur, his bare skin though still flesh-toned were the impenetrable scales of the dragon which shimmered green when the light struck it, and from his body emanated an immense heat, enough to cook an army of knights inside their own armor—and armies did come.
There, strewn about the chamber floor lied the charred remains of other brave knights from across the kingdom. The bear on yellow tunic of House Campbell. The crane on rose-pink tunic of House Hart. The wolf on blue tunic of House Cranston, and so on and so on…
Sir Scott removed his helmet and drew upon himself the sign of the cross, shooting up a quick prayer for their souls before stepping towards his friend and brother in arms.
"Do you not hear?! Can you not see?! I said come no nearer!" the human dragon roared, gesturing in agitation at the room with his talons, flames billowing between his teeth with every enraged word.
"Thomas, you are my dearest friend and brother. I will not abandon you," the knight pledged, moving closer still to his compatriot.
"I wish not to harm you, brother," the former knight said sadly with a shake of his head, raking his talons through his long dark hair. "Do you not see how I've disposed of the best Christendom had to offer?" he sighed. "I know they've sent you to slay me, for they know the love I bear you and reckon it would render me weak. But I fear for you, for I am no longer the master of my own temper."
"I am not come to slay you, brother. I wish for us to come to terms," Jason stated.
"But slay me you must, Jason. So long as I exist I will be that witch's weapon and this land will never know peace," Thomas rebutted. "I hear they meant to send my beloved Lady Kimber to come to terms with me, as well. But her sweet words would've fallen dead on her fair lips, for my words would have been her funeral pyre," he chuckled bitterly.
"I hear also that they have enlisted the great Moorish general, Zacharias to challenge me, whose exploits are echoed across the river Nile itself. I will burn him to a cinder. I hear there is also a master alchemist, William, whom they hope will reduce me with magick. But it is magick which created me, so I will reduce his bones to ashes. I even hear, failing all else, that they will send an oriental maiden, Lady Trin, whose beauty all of Christendom has never seen the likes of, and is like never to see again, to appease me. Her flesh will melt at the merest touch," the human dragon sighed. "That leaves you, dear brother. You, whose namesake is the legendary Greek hero of old."
"And you, whose namesake is the blessed Saint Thomas," Jason countered.
"Whose only legacy is to have doubted Jesus!" the dragon rebutted. "But you. Saint Agathias has smiled on you from the moment you were born. You will succeed where others have failed. You must."
"No…"
"You could restore this kingdom…
"Thomas, please…"
"You could be king…"
"We were to have ruled together!"
"But I ruined all that when instead of avenging King Zordonis' murder as I aught, I let Queen Rita seduce me with promises of power. Now she seats the throne with her adviser Zedd in her ear, and I am this," the creature gestured to his bare scaled body. "But King Zordonis favored you, and made for you that divine sword that you carry. You are his champion of light. Use your Sword of Light to finish what you and I started."
"Thomas…"
"If not for the love you bear me, then do it for the love of fair Christendom."
Jason shook his head. "There must be another way!"
"Look around you, brother. There is no other way," the former knight pointed out and then stepped closer to his friend.
"Here Jason, I give you my heart," he pledged, never once attempting to cover his nakedness, and cut a fine red X over his heart with a single sharp talon. "Strike true and know that I bear you no ill will."
"I promise you, this is not where we part," Jason stated painfully.
"I know it," Thomas accepted with a sad smile. "I love you, Jason."
"And I you, brother," the brave knight replied.
Many hours later when brave Sir Scott emerged from the dragon's chamber, covered in blood and severe burns—so much so that he needed to be cut out of his armor, revealing the worst of them all, the one upon his right hand. When the chainmail and leather glove were removed, it revealed a hand-shaped burn within his palm and wrapping around the back of his hand, which to this day is hot to the touch—it was said that there must have raged a colossal battle between the evil green dragon and the mighty red knight.
But the truth is that the dragon accepted the sword through the heart with no resistance, and the knight embraced him as he lay bleeding, clasping his hand until the dragon's body finally ran cold.
Now, many years later, seated beneath the great tapestry of a splendid emerald dragon with an exposed heart, spewing blood-red flames from his mouth, all over a maroon background of velvet, at the grand banquet table, and surrounded by his court of loyal subjects, including his wife Queen Kimber, the great Moorish general Zacherias, the master alchemist William, the ever-fair flower of the orient, Lady Trin, and myself, the humble chief scribe to the king, Aleph.
And in his famed right hand, which came to be known as The Dragon Hand, The Hand of Saint Agathias, and The Hand That Slew The Dragon, virtuous King Jason Scott nurses a goblet of plain water.
At this banquet, given to commemorate his ascent to the throne, many guests wish for him to tell the tale of how a knight of a lowly hamlet faced the dreaded green dragon and lived, and before addressing the people, he turns to me and jokes wryly, "This water will become tea before long." He then looks to his people and says, "Do you wish to hear the legend…or the truth?" and the room falls silent.
Finally I break the silence and say humbly, "Tell us of your unfailing friendship to Sir Thomas of Oakland. Tell us of how you both faithfully served the old King Zordonis. Tell us of how Queen Rita deceived us all. Tell us how you restored the kingdom," I sigh. "Our only wish is to hear your story, your majesty, for the legend is the truth." And I wait with quill and parchment, ready as always to preserve the story.
March 2, 2014