Elda stood at the edge of the hall, one hand on her sword hilt, the other on the doorknob. She paused to look around, trying to compose her thoughts and racing heart. The passages were full of broken glass and tattered tapestries. Ashes darkened the air and lined the stones beneath her. She was in Everdale Castle… or what was Everdale castle before the dragon claimed it.
“Sir Elda?” A voice echoed through the halls.
Elda whirled to attack. But it was only a boy. A boy with horns. Elda had almost forgotten he was there, which was nearly impossible with his hooves scraping the ground.
“Be quiet, faun!” She hissed, unable to disguise her contempt.
Anger flashed across his face. He knew that tone.
“I have a name, it’s Keefer—we’ve met. I was just going to ask if you have a plan, or are you going to stare at those doors until the dragon dies of old age. Because I hate to break it to you, but dragons live a lonnngggg time…”
Elda’s look silenced Keefer, who sheepishly pulled his flute from his pocket. It wasn’t his place to argue.
“Put that up,” She pointed to his flute. “I won’t be needing your bard skills while I’m fighting. In fact, I won’t be needing you at all. So, stay put.”
“But the king said…”
Keefer’s words bounced off the walls, and Elda. Brushing him aside, she drew her sword. Ignoring the faun, she thrust open the doors and ran through.
Angry roars thundered within the throne room. Keefer shuffled over to watch. He saw the shape of the dragon. Its scales were hazy, and he could feel the heat swarming the room. He could hear Elda coughing. The dragon slid down his treasure mound and stood guard before it. He knew what she had come for.
The dragon’s scales burst into vibrant color as he belched brimstone. Elda moved fast, ducking the fire, and shielding herself. She raced to the dragon’s side, where she stabbed her sword into his scaly armor. The dragon quivered, but not from pain. He screeched as the sword fell from him, warped. Elda retrieved her sword, but it was useless now. The beast was stronger than her blade.
The dragon’s tail came crashing down, and Elda ducked it. Jaws snapped above her, as she threw her knives into its snout. He bellowed, scraping his face to dislodge the blades. They fell, twisted. Elda used her shield as a weapon, but it only dented. Her daggers were destroyed. She circled the room with no weapons, trying to avoid flames.
Keefer watched on, terrified. He had seen Elda destroy many enemies but never a dragon. He had warned her that this beast was unlike others, but she wouldn’t listen.
He looked for help, realizing he was miles from it. He knew fauns were feeble, and he was feebler still. Yet, he was all she had. So, he followed her in. Sweat poured into his eyes as he wandered through the smoke.
Suddenly, he was jerked behind a shield. He squinted and saw Elda.
“I told you to stay put.” Her voice was edgy.
“I can help!” Keefer pleaded.
“No!” she shouted. “Faun you are too small to do anything against a dragon that big. You know it’s true. Just stop trying.”
She turned, entering the smoke. Keefer watched her last stand, trying to trap the dragon with a discarded rope. Instead, the dragon snapped the rope and Elda fell, into his waiting claws. He held her tight— jaws flung wide.
Elda saw a form whoosh past. The hooves revealed who was running. Keefer was leaving. The coward was fleeing while she made a distraction. It was like him. The king had forced her to take him. When she protested the King only said, “Do not despise what I choose to honor.” And now for all that, she would die without him.
Suddenly she heard a noise. Then a note. Then, unbelievable as it was, she heard a song. She twisted to look, despite the claws. On the dragon’s treasure stood a faun, playing with a golden flute a song as old as the hills.
She knew it was Keefer, but he didn’t look like the Keefer she knew. He gazed into the eyes of the dragon with a courage that saw fear and didn’t fear it. Elda wanted him to run, but words escaped her. The whole land was silent. The music carried Keefer’s heart, and the dragon listened.
The dragon stepped forward, Elda rolled away, but the faun remained. Swaying the dragon began to sink. Inch by inch he lowered, until he was kneeling. Stones simmered beneath him, but he was still. Keefer came to meet him, placed his hand on its snout, and its eyes closed. Soon, the dragon slept.
Elda stood speechless as Keefer joined her.
“How did you… do that?”
He shrugged.
“The flute did it I think.”
“The flute! Where did you get it?” She wondered.
“I found it in there.” Keefer motioned to the treasure mound.
“The weapon!” Elda raced onto the pile and began to dig for the weapon she was sent for. Keefer laughed, but rather than helping, he stopped her.
“This is the weapon, Elda.” He extended the flute.
“That’s not a weapon.” She said.
“Sir Elda … Not all weapons look alike. Sometimes to steal past dragons, you need a song, not a sword.”
He smiled at her puzzled look.
“Here…take it to the king.”
He handed her the flute without ceremony. It pulsed in her hand with magic much older than her, much deeper than she could understand, and much bigger than she would ever be. She was ashamed, for thinking too little of great things.
“Keefer…” She called.
“This is yours.” She returned the weapon.
“I’m afraid I’m too small to carry it. It needs a heart far bigger than mine.”
And taking Keefer’s hand she walked past the dragon and out into the sunlight.