By Abigail Falanga
Three of the dragon’s heads lunged, spewing noxious fire. Niccolò bellowed, charged between columns of flame, and drove at the beast with his axe. His blows glanced off the scales, then he staggered against the flags of the old church as four more heads lurched around the corner.
Where was Giovanni? What a time to be distracted by a set of farmers. Granted, they were armed with scythes and pitchforks and demented by elementals. But that was nothing to a seven-headed dragon!
Niccolò dodged another stream of flames, glanced through the stone arches, and swiped at a scaled head. He didn’t—slash—have time—swing—to look after—chop—the spoilt scions of—jump from tearing claws—princes too important to do the dirty work themselves.
“Back!” shouted the young viscount as he bounded in from the portico, his face sweat-streaked and his blood-speckled sword lowered at his side. He held up an amulet—an elegant reliquary more suitable for the Medici courts than the battlefield. The idiot wasn’t even ready to fight!
But the dragon quailed and writhed and then seemed to shrivel. It collapsed into a dark inner room within the church.
Niccolò bent, free hand braced on his knee as he recovered breath. “You might have mentioned you possessed such a charm before we met the monster, my lord.”
“What’s the matter, old man?” Giovanni Carlo Fortunato Vespucci, heir of the Duke of Otr’Idri, gave a small mocking smile. “These enchantment-hunts grown more difficult in your dotage?”
“Call me a dotard again, and less of you returns to your father, boy,” Niccolò growled, straightening.
Giovanni’s hand shook slightly as he slipped the amulet under his doublet. “Its graces are small and worked better on the townsfolk. The dragon is not vanquished, merely weakened.”
“Those men—dead?” Once, Niccolò thought nothing of killing an opponent, regardless of what they were. But that was before he’d spent fifteen years living as one of these farmers.
“Injured. Recovering.”
“Good.” His stomach eased. “Then we can learn something from them.”
Giovanni followed him out, cleaning his sword with a silk handkerchief. “Why did they attack as if demon-possessed? We did nothing to provoke them.”
“Not demons, but they were being influenced. Must be that sorcerer we’re hunting. He roused the dragon and unleashed the elementals—until that reliquary disrupted his spells.”
Half-a-dozen men sat on rocks on the erstwhile battlefield, dazed and binding light wounds from Giovanni’s sword.
“How came we here?” one asked. “We remember nothing but blind fury. Are we free of this sorcerer you speak of, master?”
“Wouldn’t hurt to have your priest bless you. Have strangers come through recently? Travelers?”
“Few travel this way. The garrison at the tower could tell you more.”
Niccolò glanced up at the fort, miles distant on a hilltop and guarding the highway pass. “I’m sure they will.”
“Father Francesco might know,” Giovanni murmured.
Plain-spoken, learned Father Francesco had welcomed them last night and given them a bed and a meal. He’d been concerned and curious about the rumor of a new sorcerer but hadn’t been able to help except to direct them to the ruined church for information on their quest. He did promise to keep his ears and eyes open, though.
“What about the dragon?” the prince demanded. “Surely conjuring such a monster would leave plain traces.”
“These hills are full of dragons.” The farmer shook his head. “Usually shy.”
“A beast like any other,” Niccolò said. “Though susceptible to magical perversion. Speaking of—”
A seven-throated roar shook the sunlit hillside, bringing the countrymen to their feet.
“Flee!” shouted Giovanni. “Go to your priest!”
“But we don’t have a priest! Haven’t since before this church was a ruin.”
They had no priest? But wasn’t Father Francesco—?
No. He lived far from this church, which had fallen into ruin and certainly held no clues. He was too curious. Too helpful.
Niccolò looked at Giovanni as realization struck. “The sorcerer is Father Francesco! He sent us here into a trap while he makes good his escape.”
Before Niccolò could stop him, Giovanni spun to the farmers and commanded “Go on! Get away from here.”
The men scattered, fleeing downhill toward the village as the dragon’s first heads emerged from the ruin.
“Fool!” Niccolò swept out his axe. “We need them.”
“They’ll be killed.”
“So will we without help! Where’s your horse?”
“I sent one of the men on him to rouse the fort.”
“Then we ride mine. Come on.”
“No! We must drive the dragon back into the church.”
“I’m not dying here! I lost too many friends to your family’s ceaseless wars.” Niccolò faced the approaching terror, anger roiling in his veins. “Now I’m looking after an idiot of a boy who sends off his horse and doesn’t know when to retreat.”
With a rush of scales and fire, the dragon charged. Niccolò grasped his axe, letting it become an extension of his rage.
Strike, duck, swing, fire, teeth—
A head flew from a snaking neck, lopped by Giovanni’s blade.
Only then did Niccolò see that Giovanni fought at his back. Matching him blow for blow, twist for feint, driving the dragon back into the church.
They were still going to die, but the lad had skill.
Twin whistles approached through the air. Giovanni shoved him backwards before Niccolò had time to recognize the roar of cannon fire. They rolled down the hill over loose stones and flattened grass, just as the ruin exploded beneath the impact of both cannonballs.
As dust rose and masonry fell, Niccolò pulled himself upright. “The messenger you sent to the fort—you had the fort take care of the dragon for us.” He leaned on his axe and met the viscount’s gaze. “Much as I hate to admit it, you actually saved my life, boy.”
Giovanni grinned. “Enough of your family has died for mine. And we’ve still got a sorcerer to catch. How would I finish this quest without you, old man?”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Thank you so much for reading this story!
It was certainly a lot of fun – and a unique challenge – to write. I’ve long wanted to set a fantasy novel in Renaissance Italy, exploring ideas like What if those old folklore and magic ideas were actually real? And this story is my first exploration into that world with these characters.
This story was also inspired by a song. I’ll let you guess which one – I put it right in the title. And lets just say I don’t know what Creedance Stillwater Revival would think of this interpretation! ;)
Loved this story! The characters were delightful and I’d love to see more with them!
Excellent, great story!
I really liked this story. Great setting, great characters. You should finish off their quest one day.
“They were still going to die, but the lad had skill.”
Niccolo reminds me of one of my favorite characters, Dalinar from the Stormlight Archive by Brandon Sanderson! <3 And I LOVE the twist ending where Giovanni turned out to actually be not only skilled, but smart and caring as well.
(honestly I'd love to see more of these two together!)
Thank you! I loved writing these two :D