
Her scales no longer shined—even in the sunlight they remained a dull gray. Her eyes were dim, and if by some miracle she was not completely blind, hunting was impossible now. Arthritic wings remained curled, and when she left her lair, she crawled on the ground in slow jerked motions. The fangs that remained in her mouth were still as long as swords, but had become dull and chipped.
The histories record tales of ancient dragons, unmatched by power. But eventually, Time arrives with his old friend Death on his heels.
For some time, she had been scavenging meals, driving off wolves and other beasts to feast on their kills. But those opportunities must have grown slim, since she had begun to stalk the countryside near Kirkford, where sheep, cattle, and goats were easy prey.
“It would be easier if we just killed her,” Duncan said. He was riding in the cart, and as he spoke he absentmindedly combed his white beard with his gnarled fingers.
“It would be easier,” Elspeth agreed. She was on horseback, her bow hanging at her side. She had the sharp eyes of someone who had spent years in the forest, foraging, hunting, and fishing.
“We could hire a knight. There are not many dragons left, I am sure some would jump at the opportunity,” Broderick said, riding his own horse beside her. He was older than Elspeth, but younger than Duncan, with broad shoulders and a back that did not yet bend with the weight of its years.
“A knight that would spend his days bragging on how he lanced a blind and crippled dragon,” Elspeth mused. “Why should we make a sport of this?
“Why not? It has to die sometime. Why not create a spectacle?” Broderick said.
“Is that what you’d want in your old age? Trot you out to fight a stronger man who can say they defeated you in battle?” Elspeth said, her face beginning to flush.
Broderick’s hands tightened around his reins, but he didn’t say anything.
“We should be quiet; we are getting near,” Duncan said, in a quiet mediating tone that ended the argument.
They could smell the cave before they arrived. A smokey fog crept across the ground, giving off aromas of smelt metal and gunpowder.
Elspeth dismounted and went to the cart, where a dead doe lay limp, its tongue hanging out of its mouth. She grabbed two hoofs and started to drag the body. Duncan signaled that he would turn the cart back, further up the trail.
The wounds where Elspeth’s arrow had pierced the doe left wide streaks of blood. Broderick hopped down to help her bring the corpse to the mouth of the cave. It was warm, like standing outside a furnace. With a quiet count, they heaved the deer into the entrance.
Elspeth and Broderick led their horses away, stiffening at every snort and clop of their horses’ hooves. Eventually, they reached what they thought was a safe distance, although neither was sure how far the dragon’s flames reached.
The two of them waited, watching. Nearly an hour passed, and the sun had started to get low when Elspeth noticed movement at the back of the cave. The dragon lumbered out, each slow step dragging its body forward. Its milky eyes stared out from the opening, and she could feel its fear. Despite its size, it was as cautious as they were. It stepped over the deer and started sniffing, searching blindly for the fresh meat.
“She doesn’t know where it is,” Elspeth whispered.
When Broderick didn’t answer, she turned. He had notched an arrow onto his bow and aimed.
“Don’t—” Elspeth hissed.
The dragon continued to search the ground. She didn’t seem to hear them
“That creature is a danger as long as it’s alive. Humans are slower than cattle or goats. How long until it comes into Kirkford and eats a child?” Broderick murmured.
“She won’t, not if we feed her here. She won’t have to leave her lair.”
“What, a deer every day?”
“If I have to.”
“She will never thank you. She won’t even know you exist.”
“I don’t do it for her thanks. Do you only show kindness when you feel appreciated?”
Broderick watched as the dragon’s snout bumped against the deer and still kept searching.
“This is no way to live, blind, weak, unable to fight or hunt.”
“A shot to the eye might not even kill her,” Elspeth said.
“And a deer a day might not keep it alive. You’ll just watch it waste away, starving. The arrow is a kindness. I’ll make it quick”
“The arrow is easy,” Elspeth said. “If it is a kindness, it is only in comparison to a cruelty.”
“The dragon may linger on for twenty, fifty, a hundred years.”
“Then I will feed it as long as I am able. It keeps us safe and lets her die.”
“A slow, terrible death.”
“The death that all of us hope for.” Elspeth raised her chin.
They watched for a moment as the dragon found the deer. Her once powerful jaws struggled to tear into the hide, and bits fell on the ground, needing to be licked up. Blood smeared the dragon’s mouth as it buried its face into the deer’s softer innards.
“Not me,” Broderick said, and his bowstring slackened. “But let’s return to town.”
The old man was waiting for them, his hands still tangled in his beard. “Did she eat it?”
Broderick nodded. Duncan somberly looked back towards the lair.
“It will take a few hours,” Duncan said.
“A few hours for what?” Elspeth asked.
“For the poison to take effect,” Duncan said.
A bellow, long, mournful, and painful roared from behind them. It continued throughout the night.
Elspeth never stopped hearing it echoing in those hills.
Andrew Maust grew up in Ecuador and now lives in Mesa, Arizona, where we writes grants for a local nonprofit. His work has been featured in Radon Journal, Utopia Science Fiction, McSweeney's Internet Tendency, Solstitia, and In Another Time Magazine.