Aurian and Jin: A Dragonslaying Story

1

“You’re mad. And insane. And crazy. And mad. And—”

“Daft. Try daft. I always liked daft.”

“Fine. Daft.” Aurian slammed his tankard down definitively, slopping a good half-pint of pumpkin ale over the table and himself. He didn’t particularly care. Stale beer was an improvement over some of the stuff on his jacket. “At any rate, I’m not helping you. You’re a harpy and you smell like a cow pasture. No. Nuh-uh. No way.”

Jin Grewler, current tenant of the only tenable room in the Aurian Koch Tavern and Inn, gave him a look so straight he almost had to look away. Gods be damned. He’d always had a soft spot for one-eyed women—possibly because having one less eye generally lessened the look of fury every woman he had ever known had eventually given him. This was not, as he had recently learned, the case with Jin. That one slate grey eye could cut through him and his manly defenses like a scimitar through apple jelly, and not in a good way.

“I think you should reconsider,” Jin said at last. “You know we could handle a mid-sized drake between us. I’ve been soldiering half my life, and you—how many years did you put in with the Royal Guard again? Fifteen? Think of the money, Rin. You could fix this place up, get a nice sign to hang out front. Maybe even hire a real bar maid. One of the busty ones, with a nice—”

“Persuasive,” Aurian said. “If it wasn’t, you know. Crazy.”

“For the last time, it isn’t as crazy as it sounds. There are more dragonslayers in the Midlands than you’d think—just because you only hear about the princes and knights doesn’t mean the others don’t exist. I’ve known at least five men who’ve done it all on their lonesomes. Eight thousand midmarks, Rin. Not to mention the eternal gratitude of King Lanslar—think about how long that’d keep us out of jail.”

“About three minutes, I reckon. Kings are usually very quick to forget.” He steeled himself for The Look again. To his surprise, Jin’s features softened instead. She folded her arms on the table.

Doubtless, this meant something terrible was about to happen.

“I’m your tenant, correct?” Jin said, her voice full of honey.

“Yes. My crazy harpy tenant.”

“And, as my landlord—” the amount of sweetness in her voice cringeworthy—“I want you to consider how very little work I’ve been getting lately. Soldiering in a peaceful country isn’t exactly lucrative. Paying rent without that eight thousand midmarks will be very, very difficult.”

“As your landlord,” Aurian said tightly, “I’d like to remind you how easily I can just throw you out on your arse.”

“And rent the room to whom, precisely? This place is a dump. You were lucky to get me and you know it.”

“Maybe I’ll get lucky again,” Aurian said, his resolve fading. She was right—who else would rent that leaky hole of a spare room? He wasn’t even completely sure why she stayed. Even Jin—the woman whose leather gauntlets were literally held together by string—must be able to afford better. His next tenant—if he got one—was likely to be a leper, or a plague victim. Or, worse, a street musician.

Recognizing her victory, Jin grinned. “I knew you’d see it my way,” she said.

2

“Daft,” Aurian said when he woke the next morning.

“Daft,” as he made his bed and sluiced his face with water.

Down the stairs: “daft, daft, daft.”

Jin was waiting for him at the bar, wrapped in her patched grey cloak against the chill of the winter morning. She was eating a bowl of oats and milk—both probably snitched from the kitchen—and drinking a tankard of ale. Ale. It was barely sunrise.

“Good to see you up and about,” Aurian said, sliding onto the bench beside her. “Any customers?”

“Of course not,” Jin said. “Oats?”

“I’ll have a bowl, thanks.” Jin ladled one out from the bubbling pot on the woodstove.

“Honey? Berries? We have a few of the dried berries left.”

“Aren’t you full of smiles this morning.”

“I’m happy.” She smiled her wide smile. He had to admit, when he’d first met her, he’d been charmed by that smile. She wasn’t a bad looking woman, one eye and all—he had liked her pale hair and her quick, limber frame. This was, of course, before he had realized she was completely insane. And something of a drunk. And completely insane.

“I’m happy,” Jin repeated. “Because we’re going to kill a dragon.”

Aurian sighed. “I was hoping to at least wake up a little before it came to that.”

“Wake up all you want.” She drizzled a liberal amount of honey on his oats. “Ale?”

“At this hour?”

“Drink up,” she said, pouring a tankard for him anyway. “It’ll keep me attractive.”

She said things like that. He was never sure how seriously she meant them.

They ate together in relatively companionable silence, watching the sun brighten over the snow-driven town outside. Aurian had lived in the Midlands his entire life, in this particular town for most of it, and the fact that he had never wanted to leave surprised even him some days. It was an unremarkable town. The Midlands were an unremarkable territory, full of unremarkable farmers and tradesmen. It wasn’t like he was doing a booming business, but he supposed staying here was easier than setting out somewhere else—for all the time he had spent in the King’s Guard he hadn’t learned to love fighting, and the Outer Territories were violent. At best.

Jin, though. He didn’t know where she’d come from exactly, but it wasn’t here—her pale skin and hair suggested the North. He suspected she had lived in a lot of places. Every time he tried to ask her about her ancestry, however, she deftly (or drunkenly) diverted his attention elsewhere.

As, judging by the look on her face, she was about to do again. Gods, could she read his mind, too?

“So,” Jin said, “about that dragon.”

Realizing there was probably only so far he could run from the topic, Aurian shrugged. “What about it?”

“Supposedly, it’s a midsized beast in the Perkinney Wood, just to the north of here. The notice nailed to the guardroom door said it’s gotten a couple of woodsmen—just enough to be a nuisance, basically. They think it lives in that cave near Fey Ridge, and I think we’d do well to start there—it’s not the firebreathing sort, so it might be a little harder to find than your average drake.” She rummaged in her cloak pocket for a few minutes, at last retrieving a very grubby and crumpled piece of parchment. “Still shouldn’t be too hard to find. Here’s the notice. You can read, right?”

“Of course I can read. My father was the town scribe.” Aurian smoothed the paper out on his leg, thanking the gods that the thing wasn’t a fire-breather. He could deal with tooth and claw, but he liked his face too much for fire. The notice read:

TO WHOMME IT MAYE CONCERNE:

A REWARDE OF EIGHT THOUSAND MIDMARKES IS OFFREDE TO THE SOLDIER WHOSE BRAVERIE WILL THUSLY LEEDE HIM TO DESTROYE THE FOULE BEASTE OF PERKINNEY WOOD. MIDDLING OF STRENGTHE AND PORTION, HE

Aurian, already familiar with the foule beaste’s whereabouts and dimensions, skipped ahead a little while.

TO RECEIVE THIS REWARDE, THE DEEDE MUST BE DONE BY NO LATER THANNE THE TENTH OF THAWMONTHE, AFTER WHICHE TIME THE LORD SHALLE SEND HIS OWNE SOLDIERY FORTHE TO FIGHT THE BEASTE.

Scanning the letter again, Adrian did a few quick mental calculations. “Jin,” he said at last. “You can read, right?”

“Why would you even ask that?”

“The tenth of Thawmonth,” he said. “Jin. That’s today.”

“Oh, is it?” She sounded, at best, mildly interested. “Then I guess we’d better get going. Maybe we should pack a lunch. And a few coppers for another tavern—we’re bound to want an ale or two once it’s all over.”

Aurian stared at her. When he remembered, at long last, to close his mouth, he could only speak one word.

“Daft.”

3

“I still don’t see what your problem is,” Jin said, shifting her sword to her other shoulder. “We’d have to do it sooner or later—why not right now?”

“I would’ve liked a little time to dread it first. Or plan. Or something.”

“Silly Rin. We have as much of a plan as we need.” Her smile was strangely patronizing. He debated punching her, but had the distinct feeling such an action would end with him picking his teeth out of the undergrowth. He had never seen her in action, but the calluses on her hands and the worn hilt of her sword suggested she was pretty good at what she did.

“Go over this with me again,” he said instead.

“It’s simple. You take up a distance and shoot arrows at the thing until it notices you. I, in the meantime, sneak up to the side of it. Then, stepping very quietly, I take this sword of mine and—pop—jam it right up in the soft spot under its jaw. It should die instantly.”

“That’s—that’s not much of a plan.”

“It’s best if you don’t overthink these things. Believe me.” Jin seemed to be in a very good mood, Aurian noticed jealously.

“I guess this is all well and good if you like killing things.”

“Which I do. Makes me all fuzzy inside. But, besides that—” she smiled again. “Have you noticed what a nice day it is? Look at that clear blue sky. And these woods are beautiful—so stark and clean. I love a good walk. Gets the blood pumping.”

“That’s ale in your canteen, isn’t it.”

“Absolutely.”

Aurian sighed. “And we split the money, fifty-fifty.”

“That’s how it’s fair.” She poked him gently in the ribs. “What else were you thinking?”

“I—ow! Quit poking me! That—heh. That kind of tickles, actually.”

“Does it now.”

“Heh. Heh—stop! Seriously, that tickles!” But he had said the magic word, and it was too late to turn back. Jin ducked behind him and locked his arms, using her free fingertips to dig a healthy distance into his sides.

“We should be—haha, oh gods—we should be being serious right now. We’re about to—hahaha, stop it! Dammit, harpy woman! Haha—”

“Say uncle.”

“Hahano!”

“C’mon. Uuuncle—”

“Never! You—” But his planned epithet was cut short by the ominous sound of sliding rocks to the west. They were close to the stony expanse of Fey Ridge, and the noise wouldn’t have bothered him, had the rocks not sounded more like boulders. Either it was a rockslide, or something very large was on the move.

“It probably heard us,” Aurian hissed, trying to cover up for how much fun he’d been having. “Wonderful.”

Jin had crouched in some nearby underbrush, and motioned him to do the same. As he joined her, she slid her sword soundlessly from its sheath. “But,” she whispered, “it hasn’t seen us. Just don’t panic. Notch an arrow. Don’t start shooting until I tell you to.”

“If I die today,” Aurian hissed back, “I will murder you.”

The beast crashed through the trees.

Aurian didn’t know what he’d been expecting ‘mid-sized’ to mean, but this wasn’t it. Mid-sized things were inoffensive and unremarkable. Aurian himself was mid-sized. The town was mid-sized. This beast, on the other hand, was a full twenty feet long—teeth, he guessed, roughly the size of his hands.

It stopped for a moment, swerving its wedge-shaped head from side to side—smelling humans. Its eyes were the same oily black as its hide. The wings folded against its back were small and creased—the sort of wings that were never meant for flight. The dragon opened its mouth and roared, revealing three rows of evilly jagged teeth.

Beside him, Jin studied it with the same calm another man would study a deer or a rabbit. He tried to find comfort in the familiar smoky smell of her, but it only made him think of fire, and the thought of fire only made him want to wet himself. That was a dragon, fifty feet away from him. He was getting ready to fight a dragon. And next to him, cheerful and relaxed, Jin was doubtless mentally counting out midmarks.

His hands sweated, sliding a little on the slick surface of his bow. Jin’s breath misted the winter air as she bent forward a little, crouching to run. All right,” she said. The dragon had turned away, obviously losing interest. “Start shooting.”

And—even though there was nothing he wanted to do less than make that giant thing angry at him—he did.

Jin was through the woods almost as quick as his arrow, dashing off to the cover of trees to the side of him. He must have hit something—he always was a pretty good shot—because the dragon whipped around and began to charge, flashing teeth and claws and nasty bloody breath in one powerful animal lunge. Not knowing what else to do, he brought another arrow to the quiver. His shot bounced uselessly off the beast’s plated hide.

And, just when he thought he was going to die—when the thing was so close he could feel the heat on its breath and smell whatever it had last eaten—Jin, with a wild war whoop, burst from the bushes. He had time, as he rolled frantically out of the beast’s way, to admire the lithe grace of her lunge, and the strange madcap bravery it must take for a single woman to cling like a barnacle to the hide of a dragon. He knocked another arrow to his bow, deciding he felt much safer holding a weapon than not. Jin raised her sword. Jin struck, plunging her sword halfway into the creature’s jaw—

--and, with another deafening roar, the thing shook her off. Aurian heard the unpleasant crunching sound of a body hitting a tree and tried not to think about it, tried for a second to pretend this wasn’t happening, that he and Jin were back at the inn and he was dreaming after a night of too much ale—

The thing didn’t turn back to him, as he had half-hoped it would, but began walking at a loping pace towards Jin’s motionless body. It didn’t bother hurrying. And why would it—she was probably dead or dying, easy prey. Aurian was surprised at the clenched feeling in his throat when he realized it. He was surprised at the turn his stomach made. He was surprised at himself for stepping out from behind the trees and shooting the beast square between its very armored shoulder blades.

The beast whipped around again, and he realized suddenly why it had been moving slowly—Jin’s sword lay half-buried in its throat. Blood nearly as black as the beast itself leaked from the wound. It took a few tottering steps forward, roared feebly, and collapsed right in front of him. In the distance, more rocks rolled down the ridge. Aurian, watching himself as if from a great distance, saw his own hands rip the sword from the dragon’s throat and stab, and stab, and stab.

After what could have been any amount of time, Aurian dropped the sword, his arm sore and his hand numb. He ran to Jin, whose pale hair was matted with bright red blood. And all he could think of to say, kneeling down in the leaves next to her:

“You see what this crazy idea got you, you harpy? Do you see now? You’re crazy. And insane. And crazy. And please don’t be dead. You owe me rent.”

“I—ugh.” To what must have been her own surprise as much as his, Jin sat up. “Of course I owe you rent, Rin, that’s what all this was about. I—ow—just didn’t quite think this one through. Good you were here though, eh?”

Aurian swore. “Woman, it is not important that you were right right now. Are you okay? That’s a lot of blood.” He slid an arm under her shoulders and helped her stand. She was a lot lighter than he thought she would be, and he was so glad—much gladder than he ever thought he would be—to feel her thin and frenzied breathing against the side of his neck. He felt a little guilty for all the times he had half-seriously plotted killing her.

“I’m all right. It might surprise you to hear this from a one-eyed woman, but I’ve had worse. I am feeling a little woozy, though.” She frowned, touching her wound gingerly. “I was out cold for a few minutes. What happened to the dragon?”

Aurian debated telling her he had stabbed it—two or three hundred times—but decided this was something she never needed to know or see. She didn’t need to know how important she was to him. He’d never hear the end of it.

“I finished it off,” he said at last. “Easy work, you’d already done most of it. Maybe you’re right, it wasn’t such a crazy plan. As for now—how about an ale?”

“Sounds peachy,” Jin said. And, pulling a knife from her boot—“let me get a piece of that hide, first. I’m in the market for a pair of new gauntlets.”

4

Later, at sundown, Aurian knocked gently at her door. When there was no reply but a snore or two he opened it and slipped inside. Jin was sprawled, facedown, on the bed, smelly piece of dragon hide clutched firmly in one narrow hand. She reeked of ale and dried blood. Aurian nudged her, but there was no response except a little shifting and a murmured “but Father, I wanted to wear the lavender gown to the ball tomorrow”.

He smiled in spite of himself. Crazy woman. She had spent the remainder of her day telling Aurian’s three customers—two of whom had only wanted to sell him something—increasingly dramatic stories of the bandage on her head. After the fifth ale or so, the stories had become masterfully untrue. One had involved a yeti. And now, he came down from the guardhouse bearing the fruits of her labor.

Which had amounted, in total, to fifty midmarks.

Of course he’d been angry at first. It was very patently not what they had been offered. But when he’d considered the taxes and fines and the fees for public drunkenness they’d both been running up, it was unsurprising. You could always trust a king to find some way of bilking you out of your gods-earned money. And fifty midmarks was some money, at least—enough for a nice sign for the Inn. Maybe Jin could finally get a new cloak with hers.

At the end of the day, they had lived. And, he supposed, the whole adventure had been kind of fun—somehow, if he let himself forget most of it.

He shook his head, a little appalled at how much like Jin he was thinking. He patted her on the shoulder and, after a moment of thought, bent and kissed her cheek.

“I hope you’re happy,” he informed her sleeping body. “You could’ve died for those fifty midmarks. I bet you don’t even care.”

When her snoring continued unabated: “That’s the thing, though. I care. I care a lot.” He tucked the small bag of coins under her other hand. “I hope you’re happy,” he repeated, and left her to sleep.

He had barely closed the door when the snoring stopped, and the unfamiliar chinking sound of more than one coin announced she had picked up the bag. He waited, listening—the chinking was soon joined by the more familiar sound of Jin cursing.

“Horseshit. This is horseshit!”

And that was when Aurian made a strategic exit back to his own bedroom. All was well—or, at least, as well as it ever was.