The newest installment in the Knight's Tale.
The Dragon’s Rose
A warrior, foolhardy and brazen,
Upon hearing the king’s plea,
Without thought of praise or blazon,
Lunged to seize his destiny’s key,
For the opportunity he longed for arose.
His king’s respect he’d earn,
By retrieving the Dragon’s Rose,
That which is guarded by the Wyvern.
Under the light of the Wolf Moon,
In what is known as the Forest of Gloom
He came to a pillar engraved with runes,
Pointing to the place where brave men met their doom.
As he trekked through the dark woods on his steed,
He came across the mouth of a bone filled cave.
Not giving it a second thought of the pints he’d bleed
Nor if this foolish undertaking would lead to his grave,
He ventured in… but not before he downed a small flask
Meant to ease the darkness’ heavy burden.
He’d need his sight, if he’d complete this task,
Even more, before the rise of dawn’s first curtain.
Sneaking down the long narrow hall,
He reached the entrance of a stench filled lair.
Upon entering, his cautious tread soon stalled,
For his gaze met blood caked claws and an icy stare.
Startled, he drew his sword and stepped back,
Knowing not what kind of monster he awoke.
The Dragonkin stood with mouth agape, as if ready to attack.
With a flap of its leathery wings, in a husky voice it spoke:
“Who is he that dares to enter my domain?
And is he ready to meet my price?”
“He’s but a humble soul with nothing to gain,
And, for your Rose, he’d make any sacrifice.”
“Sacrifice? Who’d still believe in such a notion?
Men of today hunger for vengeance and thirst for power,”
It snarled, staring back with eyes devoid of any emotion
That would make a lesser man cower.
“I do. I care not if you take me for a fool.”
“Pray tell, are you that big of a liar?”
“If I am, my tongue will rest in a blood pool.
Believe me not, put me through the trial of the dragon’s fire.”
Was he mad? To face the searing blaze?
He blocked talons with his own metal,
As a thought escaped his mind’s maze:
If not the whole Rose, just a few petals.
With steady foot and sword aloft, he launched.
Suddenly, the dragon’s spiked tail lashed
Around his sword arm; he couldn’t staunch
The heavy blood flow, spilling from the gash.
With a roar, the beast let out a scorching flame.
He could feel the stench of molten skin;
Pain shot through him as fire maimed
His face, turning it sooty as sin.
Pushing himself back to his feet, he lunged
For the Rose which the Wyvern held close to heart.
He threw his dagger and, in its stem, it plunged.
The beast drew back with a start
At the sight of the falling petals and the red droplets.
“Are you doing this for one of royal blood?
Did you ride out at the request of a harlot?
Or, perhaps, it was a farm girl yet to bud?”
“I’ve seen them not. And would it matter?
All I know, it is needed for a cure.”
“You spare no time on idle chatter…
Now I trust your reason’s pure”
Said the dragon with a hiss.
“It would seem I still have something to learn.
The price is met… also, take this
Alongside the petals that you’ve earned.
A Ruby, a bead of my blood, hardened and dried.
It might not sooth your aching burns,
But it’s a token to be worn with pride.
Now, I think someone is awaiting your return.”
With a bow, the warrior took his leave.
He had to make haste, to the King’s Keep,
But he had to tread on treacherous roads that weave
And go on the brink of mountain slopes too steep.
Three nights’ journey and he was back,
Passing through the castle gates.
He was met by a man dressed in black.
“Finally, you’ve arrived. Let’s hope it is not too late!”
