The Art of Taming a Dragon

By Hannah Robinson

“May I ask a deeply personal question?”

“Again?” I turned to the dwarf, taking care to roll my eyes dramatically enough for him to notice from his position below.

“It’s been five minutes since my last one.”

“Not long enough.”

“Oh.”

He was quiet for a whole sixty seconds while I rigged my net in the trees. Knots: secure. Branches: sturdy. It would work.

The dwarf cleared his throat, fiddling with the piece of rope I’d assigned him to hold. “Ilina?”

I gritted my teeth. “What?”

“Can I ask now?”

“My stars, Pegryk!” I jerked a knot to test its strength, then swung down from the trees. “Will you shut up if I answer you?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. Ask. And give me that.”

He handed me his piece of rope. “Did you have me hold that just to keep me out of the way?”

“That’s your deeply personal question?”

“No. That’s just a side thought.”

“I don’t answer side thoughts.” I coiled the rope around my shoulder.

“Okay.” He stroked his stubbly chin the way older dwarves stroked their beards. “The question is this: why did you bring me along?”

“That’s classified.”

“By whom?”

I tied back my hair to give my hands something to do besides strangling him. “Myself. Move to your right a little.”

He obeyed. “One last question.”

“Not now, Pegryk!”

“This is more of an observation, actually.” He pointed behind him. “First of all, that’s a cave.”

“Well noted.” I swung into the trees.

“It’s very deep. Something large probably lives there.”

“Brilliant.”

He pointed up. “Secondly, you’ve rigged a trap. You’re probably planning to trap whatever large thing lives in the cave.”

“You should be a rhetorician.” I braced my back against the tree trunk and reached into my pocket, feeling for a little vial.

“Thirdly, you’re in a tree, and I’m on the ground, standing directly under the net. Therefore, my role in this equation seems a little…” He raised an eyebrow.

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘appetizing.’” I pulled the vial out and squinted at it. The label was written in my native Giantish tongue. Melhana—dragon’s breath. I’d made the potion myself. Not the finest potion I’d brewed since becoming a potionmaster, but certainly not the worst. I knew the moment I dropped it on Pegryk, the smell, combined with the lure of live meat, should be enough to coax the beast from its lair.

“I’m the bait!” Pegryk crossed his arms. “Why me?”

“Because you’re the perfect savory combination of muscle and fat.”

“That’s very rude.”

“It was a compliment. You should be flattered.” I uncorked the vial. “The bounty on this beast is huge. If you survive, I’ll give you two percent.”

“You told me we were trapping squirrels to sell pelts!”

“You saw the size of my net. I feel I gave you ample time to catch on.”

“In this country, some squirrels are big enough to fill those nets. I know the wildlife here better than anyone.”

That scarcely seemed likely, but I wasn’t in the mood to question him. Instead, I let a few drops from the vial fall in his curly hair.

He rubbed his head, then sniffed his fingers. “Melhana! Where’d you get that?”

“Made it myself.” I corked the vial and shoved it into my pocket.

A rumble sounded from the cave.

Pegryk glared. “You’ve no idea what you’re doing! You foreign giants always want to meddle with the wildlife. I’m leaving before this gets ugly.”

I smirked. “You’ll notice there’s a smaller net just under the big one.”

“For me?” The hurt that flashed across his face almost made me a little sorry. Almost.

The rumble sounded again, closer.

Pegryk licked his lips. “You moron! You can’t capture a cave dragon!”

“We’ll see.” I cracked my knuckles.

Seconds later, a massive mound of green scales charged from the mouth of the cave. Pegryk ducked under its legs, and the beast slammed straight into the base of my tree.

Wood cracked. My heart leapt into my throat. I jerked my rope, but it was too late. The net deployed in a floppy heap.

My tree slowly tipped. I jumped into the branches of the tree beside it, my body slamming against the trunk. Something crunched against my hip, pricking my skin, and liquid trickled down the outside of my leg.

“No!” I choked on my breath as the beast turned toward me. The larger victim. The meatier of the two. The one now covered in melhana. “Pegryk, help!”

He smirked.

The dragon rammed the tree I dangled from, drool streaming from its mouth. One of my hands slipped. I screamed.

Pegryk sighed. “Excuse me, Mr. Cave Dragon?”

The beast froze, then turned to him. “Yes, good dwarf?”

“The giant dangling from that tree is a bit foolish, I’m afraid.”

“I’d noticed.” The dragon backed away.

“I suspected things might turn out this way when she requested my help with the simple task of ‘capturing squirrels.’”

The dragon nodded. “Sage observation.”

I dropped from the tree, quivering.

“But since I’m saving her life, she owes me gratitude.” Pegryk stepped between me and the dragon. “And perhaps also partnership.”

“Do you think I’ve frightened her enough by now that she’ll agree with you?”

“You weren’t supposed to tell her that part of the plan… but, yes.” Pegryk extended a hand to me. “I’m the local dragontamer. I’ve been looking for a potionmaster for years, and when the folks at the tavern told me of your arrival, I thought I’d try to negotiate a deal with you.”

My mind whirled. “This whole time, you were luring me?”

“Of course. Think what we could accomplish together—a dragontamer and a potionmaster! Do we have a deal?”

I tried to catch my breath. “Do I have a choice?”

“I think you’ll like it better than bounty hunting.”

I hesitated, then reached down and shook his hand.

Pegryk smiled. “Oh, and next time? No live bait.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hannah Robinson is a YA fantasy author who loves spinning tales of royal intrigue, assassins, and, of course, dragons. She has won several writing awards through Florida Christian Writers Conference, including 2019 Writer of the Year. When she’s not writing, she enjoys exploring nature, making music, reading old books, and drinking lots of tea.

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