By Royal Decree

The townsfolk in the gallery are ordered to silence as His Honourable Lord Therington, Royal Justiciar, returns from deliberation.

Rough cut pieces of parchment exchange hands and acknowledgement given to Their Majesties before proceedings resume.

‘The accused shall rise.’ The Court Bellower yowls.

A lone man, rather fit, thirty-four, single, size 28L, shabbily dressed and reeking pungently of yesterday’s indulgences, stands in the dock, facing the Court.

He could really do with a wash, however, such luxuries will have to wait until after sentencing is announced.

‘By Royal decree,’ the Bellower begins, ‘sentence has been handed down by His Honourable Justiciar.’

‘Hey, look, I was only messin’ around.’ The aromatic man, Ylsric, says.

Sharp stares from the magistrates remind the accused that such outbursts will not be tolerated in this Court, the Royal Court of Ethelnary Township.

‘Death!’ The Bellower punctuates.

‘They arrested me because I was drunk…’ Ylsric expands.

He hadn’t noticed the stares.

‘… and enjoying myself…’

And even if he had, it wouldn’t have kept him quiet.

‘Verdict has been reached on realisation of the following charges.’ The Bellower continues.

‘… aaaaaand because I tried to kiss someone.’

‘Assaulting His Holiness, Archbishop Dingeldorc the Second.’

‘Seriously, how can you hear that name and not wanna kiss him?’

‘The accosting of Her Royal Majesty, Queen Frostfrock.’

‘Cut us some slack, will ya? The pub was packed and from the back, she didn’t look anything at all like the Queen.’

‘SILENCE!’ The Justiciar shouts.

‘Especially when wearing those fishnets of hers.’ Ylsric elaborates.

The Bellower scowls and looks to Lord Therington for instruction.

‘CONTINUE…’ checking himself, the Justiciar recalls his station, ‘… reading the charges.’

‘Theft… of the highest order.’ The Bellower cracks on.

‘I only took the small ones.’

‘Sonny,’ Lord Therington pounces, ‘you were found to be in possession of no less than one hundred and seven pieces of the Crown’s Jewel Collection.’

‘They’ve got thousands of jewels, your honourableness. They wouldn’ta noticed.’

‘At dawn on the morrow…’

‘Oh bugger.’

‘… the accused will be taken…’

‘Here it comes.’

‘… to the derelict and abandoned Castle Ridgerest…’

‘That’s a bit of a trek, isn’t it?’

‘… where you shall face the sentence of mortal combat…’

‘It’s not really abandoned, is it?’

‘… with the dragon…’

‘A dragon lives there.’

‘… Roikaedem.’

‘I don’t think I want to fight a dragon.’

‘Listen, Sonny,’ the King interjects, ‘nobody wants to fight a dragon but that’s what happens to little smeks like you who sneak up behind my wife and grab her arse!’

Ylsric turns to the King, a wry smile growing on his lips.

‘So… I’m not the only one that’s been enchanted by her fishnets, then, eh, Your Majesty?’

‘If by the grace of chance, you should survive combat with Roikaedem…’

‘I think I’d have more of a chance trying to walk on water.’

‘Then your sentence shall be commuted…’

‘Commuted… like… taken away?’

‘… to be returned here to Castle Ethelnary, where you shall be hanged by the neck…’

‘Can I at least try the water?’

‘Until you be dead… dead…’

‘Ok, I get it.’

‘TAKE! HIM! AWAY!’

Ylsric is removed from the dock and made to spend his last night in the dungeons along with the other undesirables.

Cold, moist stone adorns the womb of woe set far beneath the Castle’s lush, warm environs.

‘Seriously?’ the condemned says as his gaoler locks the bars. ‘No bath before bedtime?’

The Royal guard turns to leave him to this menagerie of melancholia. ‘Get some sleep, ya smek…’ he barks over his shoulder at he who shall not be bathed, ‘…you’re gonna need it.’

A cloud of contemplation passes.

‘Excuse me, Mr Gaoler?’

‘Whaddaya want, smek?’

‘Can I have a wake-up call, please?’

*

Before dawn, Ylsric is brought to the castle’s inner courtyard, stripped of his clothes and given to wear a suit of armour not even remotely befitting to his impending dragonic engagement.

He is allowed nothing except to keep on his person a small cameo brooch, the only memento he possesses of his late mother.

‘Erm… is this suit fireproof?’ he enquires.

None of the attending attendants dare answer.

Manacled, Ylsric is tethered to one of his two mounted escorts and made to follow on foot over the barbican and through the Castle’s outer courtyard where the township’s militia is currently in formation, awaiting the King’s review, which may happen a bit later than scheduled as the local pub, imaginatively called The Castle, had a buy-one-get-one-free offer on ale last night, seven till ten, and the King was in attendance.

Till midnight.

Till about quarter past four this morning, actually.

His Majesty appreciates a pint.

After passing the ranked, brightly uniformed soldiers, Ylsric follows the horses’ rear ends further on to the highway that leads to the dreaded derelict Castle Ridgerest.

‘So, when Lord Thingythingy said I was to be taken to Ridgerest,’ Ylsric says, ‘I expected to be sitting in a cart or something. A wagon, perhaps?’

The riders sneer at him contemptuously.

‘Shut it, smek.’

‘Travelling this way, I’ll be knackered by the time we get there.’

‘Make the dragon’s job easier, then.’

Realising his lot, Ylsric runs his blood-restricted fingers under his armour’s strangulating straps as much as is allowable.

‘This armour’s not very forgiving, is it?’

*

Some indeterminable amount of time later, the jaunt to Ridgerest nears its end.

Clumps of sticky, blackened ash appear increasingly oft at the roadside as they approach Ridgerest gate.

‘So, I take it these charred bodies are all the other Royal arse-grabbers the King was on about.’

‘Beyond yond portcullis, you will find your fate.’ The guard says, pushing Ylsric inside.

‘And you’re just gonna wait here? Outside? Together?’

The guard grins. ‘You’ll find your chaperone is already in there.’

‘There’s probably more than one door outta here, y’know.’ The detained derriere-defiler deduces.

‘Believe me, smek, you’ll come out in only one of two ways.’

Ylsric glances at the height of the confining portcullis as his escort draws the bolt.

‘You’ll see me walk through this gate, or…?’

‘Or… the dragon will chuck you over the wall like he did them others and we’ll watch your charred corpse disintegrate into a pile of ash as it smashes on the road.’

‘Would that be sticky ash?’

‘Yes, my friend, that it would be.’

‘Brilliant.’

*

Once locked in, Ylsric frantically searches to find something, anything that would assist in placating his doom. Moving steadily along the battlements, nothing of import he finds. He eventually happens upon a cluster of cells, four apartments, each, as fate would provide, with their doors ajar. The first room contains only a length of rope and a handful of hessian sacks. The second, a broken table and, on the wall, a brass ring holding a number of large, tarnished ward keys. The third contains thirty-seven discarded biscuit wrappers and a set of rather gaudy riding attire. And in the fourth office, he finds a squat barrel, several strands of plaited hay, an aged oversized upholstered chair, a half-eaten pack of cream biscuits and… a youthful maiden, fair of hair, heavy of heart.

On seeing Ylsric, the maiden leaps from the barrel and throws herself at his feet, which are a size forty-six in European measurement.

‘Oh, Sir.’ She whispers. ‘Sir hast appeared at long last to defeat the beast and ride this sorrowful maid to tenements of tranquillity.’

‘Stop calling me Sir.’

She looks to him quizzically, wiping away a joyfully excreted tear.

‘May arenst thou a Knight? A Knight here to rescue me from the clutches of-’

‘No, I’m not a bloody knight.’

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘How is it, Sir, as you are not thus?’

‘Honestly, is that even English?’

‘Your pardon, Sir, I ask, what is your meaning?’

‘I mean, why are you talking like that? Who taught you how to talk?’

‘Again, kind sir… your enquiries… the pertinence I fail to see.’

‘Ok, never mind. Where’s the dragon?’

‘I am afraid, know I do not, kind Sir, for nay ever have I seen it, nor it me.’

‘It doesn’t know you’re here? Is that what you’re saying?’

‘For my silence in speech and in tactful deed, that be true.’

‘That is true, ugh!, look, how long have you been in here?’

‘I wish not for Sir to know that information.’

‘Psssht, whatever.’

Ylsric searches the apartment for anything useful.

‘Don’t look in that barrel.’ The maiden orders.

‘Sorry?’

‘Anywhere else,’ she says, ‘but not there.’

He rolls his eyes and shifts his scavenging elsewhere, but to no avail.

After a lengthy silence, he says, ‘I’ve been misbehaving myself recently… and getting locked in here is my damnation. What brings you here?’

The forlorn wench drops wearily into the chair, she coughs for the erupting cloud of dust, her simple dress now a few shades darker.

‘I found myself in possession of the boldest of inclinations at some time past to disagree with my parents on matters of a political and moral nature.’

‘Bit harsh. Who doesn’t disagree with their parents on matters of… poli… ti… whatever. Who are your parents, anyway?’

‘The King and the Queen.’

‘So that makes you…’

‘Princess Ethel Barry of Ethelnary.’

‘Ah.’

*

The Princess decides that it would be for the best if Ylsric were to survey the castle grounds and discover their escape optionings on his own. She deems that accompanying him would only hinder his efforts.

Ylsric concurs.

He sets off in ninja mode and circumnavigates the Castle grounds as best he can.

At first, he finds a wall, another wall and yet a third wall that rather efficiently seal off the courtyard from the outside world. Any passages that lead to the Castle’s inner chambers have been barred and not disturbed for aeons. Unthwarted, he continues.

Immersed in his investigating, Ylsric doesn’t notice that he is being watched.

Then, unexpectedly, and almost predictably, our hero does happen upon a door that dares to offer hope. It is a door that would open to a paddock containing a wagon. And beyond said paddock, a short scamper across an unwalled bailey to the wood just beyond that nicely shades this side of the Castle during the summer months, when it’s really hot and the sun is low in the sky over that side.

Usually in the afternoon.

I say, would open because, alas, she is locked.

‘Bollocks.’ Ylsric mutters, his freedom within groping reach.

Defeated, he makes to return to the Princess in failure, hoping they can somehow otherwise hatch a viable plan between them.

Cutting straight through the middle of the courtyard this time and not stealthily as he had before, the muppet, his observer’s curiosity has been irrevocably piqued.

‘Hmmmmmwhat are you doing?’ the dragon asks.

Ylsric freezes, suddenly remembering the danger into which he has been plonked. He turns to look at Roikaedem. All 11.67 meters of him.

‘Who? Me?’ Ylsric asks sheepishly. ‘I’m… I’m…’ He stutters. ‘I’m… looking for you, actually.’

‘Mmmmmare you indeed? Convey to me, Sir, why would a thing such as this be, I wonder.’

Ylsric involuntarily pulls a face at the dragon’s request.

‘Am I the only character in this story that talks like a normal person?’

‘You forget yourself, Sir,’ Roikaedem states, ‘a person, I am not.’

‘Fine, Roi, have it your way but I’ll tell you this much… you’re in danger.’

‘Hmmmmmdanger? Me? Nonsense.’

‘Ooh, you are….’ Ylsric assures, ‘yep… big… mongo danger.’

If dragons had eyebrows, Roikaedem would raise one at this point.

‘Explain.’

‘Well… them there in Ethelnary are planning on stealing your gold… and… killing you.’

‘Hmmmmmare they? And why, pray tell, would they want to do that?’

‘Cause they’re idiots… very powerful, well organised idiots but what they’re planning on doing could cause you a great deal of harm, your… your… your flamefulness, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?’

‘Hmmmmmno, of course not.’ Roikaedem considers that this wretch may actually be telling the truth.

‘Y’see, they’ve sent me… me and my friends… outside there… to find weaknesses in your defence, then they’ll attack. Because they want your gold, did I mention that?’

‘Mmmmmyes, you have.’

‘They’re assembling their army, ARMIES!... right now… in the Castle’s outer courtyard… in Ethelnary… and as soon as my esco-, FRIENDS, me and my friends… erm… Bert and Ernie… report what weaknesses we find… then they’ll attack… you… here… kill… steal gold.’

Roikaedem sneaks a peak over the battlements and glimpses Bert and Ernie. He casts an unsure eye on Ylsric.

‘Look, I’ll prove it to you.’ The wretch says. ‘I’ll take off this incredibly uncomfortable armour and stand before you as the gods intended, with no method of defence.’ He throws the last of his armour down at the dragon’s feet. ‘There… I am entirely at your mercy.’

Roikaedem purses his dragon lips.

‘Hmmmmmwell I do suppose your words and actions exhibit you possess nobility of character.’

‘A character of characters.’ Ylsric submits.

‘Hmmmmmcoming to kill me?’

‘I swear.’ With a low bow to crown this bullshit ruse.

Enraged, Roikaedem sets his eyes and with a puff of acrid, burning smoke, pisses off to face his destroyers.

With his head lowered, taking note of his nakedness, Ylsric’s observations bear fruit.

*

Having been spared a fiery death, Ylsric hauls ass back to collect what he needs from the various apartments, goes for the Princess and intends to get them the fuck outta Dodge.

‘Righty Ethel, I reckon we’ve got about twenty minutes to grab as much gold as we can and high-tail it inta the woods. There’s a wagon in the paddock and…’

‘Is the dragon setting us free?’ she interrupts, expectantly.

‘Pssssht, don’t be daft.’

Her mind races for an alternative scenario. ‘Is the dragon dead?’

A sudden look of pleasedness erupts on her face. ‘Have you slain the dragon?’ All doe-eyed and gooey, like.

Ylsric pauses and looks at her over the rims of the glasses he’s not wearing.

‘Your first guess was more plausible.’

He drops the collected items, using the barrel as a tabletop, and quickly dons the gaudy clothes.

‘Whose are those clothes? Where is your armour? What are those keys for?’ The princess fires off.

‘Seriously?’ the half-naked man asks. ‘We’re not even married yet.’

‘What makes you think that ever shall we marry?’

Pulling the delightfully snug, form-fitting riding shirt over his chiselled, rippling six-pack, he says, ‘The way my luck’s been going recently? I’m sure it’s inevitable. Now move!’

*

After numerous attempts at opening the paddock door, the old rusted lock ultimately gives way.

‘Ah, finally.’ Ylsric says.

He looks smugly to the Princess, expecting some sort of congratulatory remark.

‘It took you five attempts to unlock that door.’ The Princess observes.

‘So?’

‘You only had three keys.’

He rolls his eyes and holds up to her the last of his collected goodies.

‘Grab a sack, Princess.’ he snaps. ‘And get a-fillin’.’

Seven hessian bags-for-life they were able to fill with Roikaedem’s gold.

‘We’re going to have to shift this wagon ourselves, y’know.’ Ylsric points out.

‘I beg your pardon?’ She asks.

‘We ain’t got a horse and unless you plan on doing it yourself, we’ll have to do it together.’

‘You do know that I’m a Princess, don’t you? I did mention that before, didn’t I?’

‘No team. No gold. No fairy tale ending, get it? Now grab a yoke and start pushing.’

The wagon was actually a lot easier to shift than they’d initially anticipated - from the paddock, over the bailey and safely beyond the treeline with only a few firm thrusts.

‘Oh shit!’ Ylsric shouts.

‘What is it?’

‘I’ve left my cameo in the armour. Bastard! I have to go back and get it.’

‘But wait, you can’t leave me here… all alone… in the woods. What if the dragon comes back?’

‘You’ll be fine… Stand still… Pretend you’re a tree.’

*

Returning to Ridgerest, Ylsric quickly retrieves his mother’s brooch. On exiting, however, he hears the distinct sound of swords relieved of their scabbards.

‘Where do you think you’re going, smek?’

Ylsric halts, faces to his escorts and abandons all hope.

‘You didn’t really think it’d be that easy do you?’

Just as Bert moves to cut him down, a fireball reduces the guard to a clump of sticky ash.

Ernie, recoiling in terror, receives the same.

Ylsric looks to see Roikaedem perched on the battlements above the bailey.

‘They didn’t look very friendly to me.’ Says Roikaedem.

Wordlessly, Ylsric bows to his saviour and turns to leave.

‘Wait!’ The dragon commands.

‘Hmmmmmyes?’ Ylsric says.

‘Where’s the girl?’

‘I… erm… taking her with me.’

‘Thank goodness.’ Roikaedem says, elated.

‘You’re letting me?’

‘Oh yes… Make it so.’

‘Ok. So… you knew about the girl?’

‘Hmmmmmare you joking? With those infernal noises issuing from her intestinal tract over the past weeks? How could I not?’

‘Wow.’

‘And with your inability to bathe yourself, I believe you two would be a match made in heaven.’ Roikaedem flashes a wink. ‘Bert and Ernie had horses, did they not?’

The wretch smiles and fetches the riderless beasts.

*

‘Will the dragon not notice that part of his fortune has gone?’

‘Nah, I mean, dragons are all magical and evil and shit but they’re useless at counting. Roi knows he’s got a big ole pile of gold, sleeps on it every night, but he couldn’t tell you how many coins he’s got.’

The sunset beckons.

‘Tell me Princess, how long exactly did you hide in that room for?’

‘I have said before, Sir, I do not wish to share that information. But it was, incidentally, a long time.’

‘So… you lived on biscuits… how did you… ah… the barrel.’

And they lived happily ever after… except for that one of their children eventually turns out rather unruly and then there is that run in with the tax office about where all the gold came from but that takes us on to a different story so there ya go.

The End