Down the Dragon’s Throat

By S. E. M. Ishida

As King Theon looked out the castle window, he allowed hope to flutter in his chest. Perhaps today would be the day his son would return. Despite the king’s plea against it, the prince had left two years ago in the name of expanding the kingdom.

“We have all we need here,” King Theon had said.

“It’s not enough,” Prince Daric had replied.

Even now, the prince’s answer haunted King Theon. He knew all too well the lust of a young man’s heart for gold and glory.

Ominous black wings swooped before the king, and a raven landed on the windowsill. The king retrieved the letter bound to the bird’s leg. He broke the smeared wax seal, which belonged to the queen of the neighboring kingdom. Theon read the hasty scrawl: “The dragon is coming.”

Too late. A passing shadow obscured the sunlight shimmering over the desk. A rush of air slammed through the window, and the raven retreated to a perch with a cry. King Theon watched the dragon soar over the town. If the books were correct, swords and arrows would snap against its red scales, and its hardened claws could lift the roof off a house. The dragon dived into the forest, and its reptilian head emerged above the treetops.

“General Alasdair!” The king yelled. “It’s here. Send your men into the city. Make sure everyone stays in their homes.”

“But, my lord, shouldn’t we attack it before it comes closer?”

“No. Too many armies have marched down its throat. I will not allow that fate to those under my command.”

Alasdair bowed, turned, and left.

King Theon walked down the spiral staircase. As he entered the city, Alasdair caught up to him with fifty of his finest leaders.

“My commanders will post guards throughout the city, especially in the most populous areas. What next, my lord?”

“Come with me,” the king said. Alasdair followed, leaving his commanders to carry out their orders.

The dragon had settled in a forest clearing like a mountain that had fallen from the sky. A trench of opened earth and uprooted trees revealed its landing path. Now it calmly rested with its wings folded across its back and its head upon the grass, eyes closed and mouth open wide.

“Is it sleeping?” Alasdair whispered. “Surely now is the time to attack.”

“No. It has laid its trap.” The king stood in front of the gaping maw, which could easily contain his throne. As the dragon breathed, a heavy aroma like incense filled the air.

Past a fence of teeth gleamed a civilization’s worth of treasure. Gold and silver coins were strewn across the carpet of its tongue. Gemstones coated the tunnel-like throat. Farther in, decorated cedar chests sparkled through the darkness of the beckoning gullet.

Alasdair took a step forward, but Theon placed a hand on his shoulder to hold him back. “If you take anything, even the smallest bauble, the jaws snap shut.”

“What do we do? Wait for it to leave?”

“I have a plan,” King Theon said. “The dragon lives to consume, to take, to conquer. If the beast takes—what if we gave to it instead?”

“What do you ask of me, my lord?”

“Keep the citizens safe. I will collect the castle treasures. Meet me here again in three hours.”

“Very well, my lord.”

As Alasdair turned toward the city, the king returned to his castle and gathered his stewards. “Collect the gold, silver, and precious stones from the treasury and be ready to cart them out to the forest. We will give the dragon a feast.”

He then retreated to his chambers to retrieve his most precious possessions. He removed his grandfather’s sword from the wall. He carefully rolled up a tapestry woven by his late wife. He lingered over a pouch that had belonged to his lost son, Daric. Nestled in the velvet inside lay a gold pendant in the shape of a dragon. He placed them all in a chest for the stewards to move out.

The king oversaw the carts of opulence streaming from the castle.

At the dragon’s resting place, Alasdair awaited him. King Theon watched, ensuring that none of the stewards lingered too long as they emptied the gifts into the dragon’s mouth.

Then King Theon drew near with his own treasures. He arranged the sword, the tapestry, and the pendant on the dragon’s tongue. Last of all, he removed his golden crown and tossed it onto the pile. He nodded and stepped away.

The dragon’s mouth began to close. Ivory teeth encircled their prize. The dragon stood, raised its head, and swallowed, the kingdom’s wealth reduced to a bulge in the serpentine neck.

But instead of traveling down into the cavernous stomach, the hoard of treasure lodged in the monster’s throat. The dragon opened its jaws in a silent howl. It raised its wings, unfurling like sails, but couldn’t lift off the ground. It thrashed, felling trees and tossing soil with claws and tail. Stewards fled.

Alasdair tugged the king’s arm, shouting to depart. As they ran, the dragon’s head crashed to the ground behind them.

The king slowed his retreat and halted.

“What are you doing?” Frustration strained Alasdair’s voice, but he stopped alongside his lord.

The king repeated words from his readings. “A monstrosity formed from greed cannot feed on generosity.”

King Theon turned. Although an imprint of the dragon remained upon the ground, the beast itself had vanished. There in the midst of the flattened grass lay an emaciated man dressed in ragged pants.

As the king ran to the man, hope and hesitation fought in his chest. But when he recognized his face, he kneeled and embraced him. “My son! My son has returned.”

Hot tears soaked the fabric on his shoulder. “Father, I should never have left.”

“Hush now, child.” The king stroked Daric’s tangled hair. “The monster is vanquished, and my son has returned. I want no other treasure.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

S. E. M. Ishida is a technical communicator and children’s book author. Her published fiction debuted with a short story in a magazine, and her interest in short fiction persists. In addition to enjoying stories in various forms, whether books, films, or games, Ishida also appreciates the natural world, both the quirky and the common.

---

More Stories | Author Website | Facebook | Instagram | Twitter