“Yes, Janice?” said I, rudely sighing as I was trying to enjoy studying an ancient, tattered scroll.

  Lady Janice’s eyes twinkled, she raised her eyebrows twice, hinting at my defeat.

  “You study laboriously Rune, but that won’t help you against a dragon,” my older sister continued to nag me all day.

  “I know, you keep bragging, you are the first one in our family to slay a dragon—”

  “No help in this kingdom will get you a dragon, I know, ha, ha. You are wasting your precious time, Rune. I know what it's like to be eaten by a dragon, alive, you do not want to meet a dragon in a cave, like I did in Dunharn.”

  “I’ll slay a dragon, you have to believe me,” I said desperately.

  “But I awoke in its hot breath, burnt, chewed, and half swallowed, it's a nightmare to remember the torment I felt in those jaws with its yellow fangs, and slimy tongue, yet here I am whole.”

  “I know, you lived through and killed it somehow and even brought home its head as a trophy.”

  “Yes, I am a legend that will be remembered forever in Atlantivanne, and you will never be one, ever, ha. Rune Accept it. Accept it now, and always, that you will be forgotten.”

  “Never, Janice, never. You see this worn old scroll has a map on the back. A map to Spiral Fang.”

  “I will build my own skiff and arrive first brother.” She stole the map.

  “I don’t need the silly map. I will build a sailboat; I even have a crew of Dragon Slayers.”

  “Yeah, you hired them with my coin brother,” she bit her lip as she growled. “You won’t get far without me,” she turned away. “You’re such a peon, an ant, I know you hired Ledge, that saddle tramp and moocher, he never lifted a finger for anyone, except to pick his own nose. He’s a rancher and a slumlord calling himself a dragon tamer. I know that we are rich and renowned all over because of me. The truth is you would be a beggar without me.”

  “I am going to slay the Lord of the Dragons, Zarlock, and save Atlantivanne, I swear on King Annon’s life.”

  “I don’t see how. You are nothing,” she murmured pathetically.

  “You are a stubborn old bully Janice, you never believed in me, and you never will. I am leaving now,” I said with my feelings hurt and downtrodden, ready to cry.

  I got up and opened the sharp, coarse bramble door and stormed out. The door still smelt like wild berries, squeaking on its rusty brown hinges, trying to not prick my hand. Bears are attracted to bramble doors like this at night, which can cause problems when they forage for berries. At least pirates thought twice about touching our door. But I don’t have dealings with pirates, and never have, and never would like to. The door was my father Goin’s idea from when he was a knight in the War of the Dragons Twenty-five years ago when the Zombie Dragon, Lord Zarlock was slain, now he’s back.

  I strode angrily into the boiling rays of Atlantivanne to escape my older sister, whom I never won an argument against, and if I do, she will always win in the end by complaining to our father, one of the greatest dwarven knights of Atlantivanne, he even survived the great war. She won this time. She is like the town crier, literally, I would complain to a fellow dwarf named Ledge.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  I deeply inhaled the warm, aqua blue, fresh, tingling, cloudless air into my lungs, until I saw my friend Ledge and former squire feeding the growling hogs, which brought a horrid smell to my nostrils. I always would make fun of Ledge or try to make him laugh at himself in the process. I learned that from Janice, especially from when she puts me down.

  “Are you bathing with those pigs Ledge?” I pinched my nose, laughing.

  “I, uh, you caught me Sir, Rune Windart, sort of—” said Ledge, pouring buckets of slop. His boots were ankles deep in mud, squatting like a hairy sasquatch in pig feces. “Where to, master dragon slayer?”

  “I am to test my mettle with your aid, my dragon tamer, come at once!”

  “But I am not a squire that has to tend to you anymore,” he said, being bloated, lazy, and scarce.

  I grabbed Ledge by the back of his beaver brown ponytail then proceeded to rub his face into the mud. Into the rotten smelling muck of the cold hard earth. The hogs had been shaded by a smooth, nearby whitish elephant tree, minding their mud. Chewing leftover slimy slop loudly. We had an abundance of food and what we didn’t eat we gave to the hogs.

  When I was little, I saw Ledge’s parents make him eat muck one day for not caring for the pigs and cattle. He felt humiliated, worse than ever when that happened to him, but not worse than how Janice made me feel right now.

  “Do you remember when you were branded a squire a year ago by my father, the knight?” I said.

  “Yes, Sir Rune,” Ledge swallowed his pride like mud I noticed. “You always treated me the best in the whole manor.”

  Ledge followed me to the stable made of rough timber, which was battered from a hurricane last month, and he saddled our brown-leather, fresh odorous mounts. You could almost taste the leather. The wood and hay had to be replaced in the stable for the new ponies and manor, but not its pounding and slamming shutters. It was an exceptionally windy day, and you could hear the clinking steel of a rusty-stained blacksmith’s forge in the distance of the mines, a mile away. Ledge got to work on this hot humid morning tending the ponies.

  Ledge was now the landlord for our other cabins, just a job to collect the rent and work the hogs, and cattle as well. He made sure they always had enough to eat. No one respected Ledge because he lets others push him around, he deserves to feed the hogs in my opinion. Ledge’s suffering makes me forget about my own.

  I saw the peasants pulling heavy timber, weighing down the rickshaws with lumber, and felling trees with a crack and woosh of its branches in greenish smelling leafage. The Windart manor was being set up and constructed again. I could taste dust in the air from all the sawing.

  At sunrise the next day, Ledge and I rode on ponies to greet King Annon of Castle Windshelm, known as the Caribbean Dwarves of island Atlantivanne. We also greeted other civil dwarves such as Sir Ivan.

  Ivan had deep respect for Lady Janice, owner of the title, Hero of Atlantivanne. Our rocky-green island was safe momentarily, now that the dragon menace was slain who was feeding on dwarves, and the kingdom is at ease. But this would show an opportunity for the ruthless Pirates of the Black Key to plunder Atlantivanne, which the dwarves and I were not aware of at the time. I wrote that in my journal.

  Ivan had a conversation with me about a daring joust, while the king was knighting Ledge. Later, Sir Ledge joined the conversation as I could not believe the fattest dwarf of all Atlantivanne was now a knight in arms. I could not find the words to pronounce what I saw. Ledge, in a suit of shiny mail, ready to slay any dragon, or die trying, which was not in his character. He had a battle axe the size of a dragon head.

  I wish Ledge’s parents still lived, so they would be proud of him, not everything in life has perfect timing. They would also be proud of Ledge’s singing, since he can make a dragon fall asleep, at least he said he did once, to help Janice survive the dragon and slay it. But I don’t believe it. He was with me when Janice brought home the dragon head in a rickshaw. At least Ledge can sing better than my father.

  No dwarf dared to joust with a member of the Windart family, or even Ledge, for fear and respect of Lady Janice, bearer of the title of Atalantivanne. But Ivan and I went to Lion Dragon Inn near the manor. We shared tales about the War of the Dragons and downed dwarven ale. When Ivan was drunk, I challenged him to a deadly joust to test his mettle. He accepted but fell off his pony on his arse just before my wooden lance made contact with his helm, which would have broken his neck. We were both drunk on mead. Now that was perfect timing, or just plain luck. Har, har!