It had been decades since the last dragon had been sighted in the region; Goodwife Bayliss was the oldest Baravian, and even she could only dimly recollect her grandparents telling tales of an ice dragon spraying the countryside with frost and icicles, freezing the cattle and sheep where they stood.
Nobody had seen a dragon since then. Until now.
Every town menaced by a dragon could use a knight. Every lonely wizard could also use a knight. What happens to a love affair when the dragon has been defeated?
Written by: Jonathan Cohen
Narrated by: Joe Cruz
A Faustian Nonsense production.
To read the full transcript of this episode, go to https://thelavendertavern.captivate.fm/episode/the-knight-and-the-dragon
Transcript
Once, there was a quiet town called Baravia that was nestled in between two hills on the eastern edge of the continent. Baravia was well-situated: it had a river that brought water, and fish, and boats with trade from other villages down the coast. The plain it stood upon was high enough that the temperature was moderate. It was considered the friendliest town in the region.
The Baravians prided themselves on being friendly. At the entrance to the town stood a statue of the town’s founder with open arms, and an inscription in several languages reading, “Welcome to Baravia, all strangers who seek it!”
Baravia was also known throughout the region to welcome travel from visitors, commerce from visitors, and certainly gold from visitors. But there was one type of visitor that Baravians did not like at all.
It had been decades since the last dragon had been sighted in the region; Goodwife Bayliss was the oldest Baravian, and even she could only dimly recollect her grandparents telling tales of an ice dragon spraying the countryside with frost and icicles, freezing the cattle and sheep where they stood.
Nobody had seen a dragon since then. Until now.
The farm animals smelled the sulfur and fled, spooked. The farmers also smelled the sulfur, but they did not know to run until a shadow fell across their land. With a wingspan several yards wide, orange-red scales, and yellow slitted eyes, the dragon swooped and soared and buzzed the tops of the farmhouses until the farmers cowered in their cellars.
Then came the fire: magical fire, green and blue and orange, straight from the dragon’s mouth, scorching the thatched roofs and searing the rows of corn, and somehow miraculously missing the animals which stood fearfully at the edge of the river, trying to decide which was a worse fate: to enter the river, or be burned by the dragon.
Goodwife Bayliss was not afraid; at the age of ninety-six years, she was only afraid of the aches that afflicted her hips. She stood in the largest scorched cornfield with her non-magical scythe and her non-magical voice and shouted at the dragon. “Get away!” she cried. “Leave Baravia alone!”
The dragon made a long swooping arc downwards, and the one farmer who could see Goodwife Bayliss later said it looked as if the dragon was coming straight for her, fire lashing the field in a straight line. At the last moment, the dragon pulled up, but Goodwife Bayliss’s arms were more agile than her hips, and she reached up and hooked the dragon’s head, which spun down towards her and incinerated her.
“Our beloved Goodwife Bayliss has been slain,” Olliver, the council leader said at the hastily-assembled council meeting. There were a few murmurs at the use of the word “beloved,” but nobody wanted to be a person who would speak ill of the dead, especially one who was still standing in scorched-carbon form in the field where she had been struck. “We must do something.”
“Our crops are in danger,” one farmer said.
“Tradesmen are avoiding our town,” a merchant added.
They sent soldiers to fight the...
