“It is said the vile creature has scales the color of pitch and noxious to the touch, but that he covers himself in snow which does not melt against his frigid body. The snow makes him appear white against the mountains, but on closer look it is a simple mask, a deadly covering.” A drunken man missing half his top row of teeth and wearing the yellow-orange colors of the house of the desert fox spoke between stuttered stumbling.

  “I’ve heard just an oversized lizard wit’ strapped wings to its back. It ain’t real. Don’t believe for a second.” The short, thin man threw back another swig of his drink.

  A third man shouted in the room, “I saw the ruins of the town in the far north, frozen solid as stone, it was! And all the menfolk was gone like puffs of smoke, no bodies or nothin’. Women and children statues stock still. I say they was eaten! I tell you it’s a white dragon, an evil wretched thing. The chieftain’s throne was cleaved in two!” The man’s face was squat and fat, but his eyes held wry intelligence.

  “Aye cleaved by a sword or an axe! That’s not the action of a dragon, Martin! Besides, ain’t been no dragon sightings in half an age you twit. They was hunted to extinction by the Knight Tumult, and the bards and historians agree – a rarity. I would bet you an adventuring party moved through and one of them wizardy types froze ‘em all, and the meathead in their midst decided to cut the chieftain down after the fact. Couldn’t have been one done that. Maybe more than one wizardy type or a sorckeror. Scary stuff.” This man’s face was gaunt as a skeleton, skin dark as ebony, and eyes the color of cool blue ice.

  “Cantos, ye can’t be serious…” Fat Martin choked on a swig of his ale, and began coughing uncontrollably.

  The dark man, Cantos, slapped him on the back a few times, “There there, don’t breathe it, Martin. Seems the god of ale chose to shut you up before you told a lie. What luck! The Lady of Lies doesn’t like being mixed with drink, no matter how often we mortals do it.”

  The two continued their spat, and in the corner of the room, sipping wine and leaning back against the wall, was a rusted knight. His plate armor was scored and scoured with use. The once-shining steel was now a patina of various hues, purples, blues, and a light dusting of orange. His face was untouched, but graced with a thick dark beard. His skin was the deep copper of desert lands, and his eyes were black as coal. His strong features were hard in the jawline yet soft around those dark eyes as he surveyed the area. The last of his meager funds were in the glass of wine in front of him. His stomach growled, and he took another swig. As he did, Martin fell out of his seat coughing, and Cantos stepped off his stool to try to help the man up.

  The rainbow knight stood quickly, and drew a dark sap from his belt. He weaved between patrons and made quick time to Cantos just as the man leaned over to help his friend. A single firm slap from the sap on the back of Cantos' skull crumpled him on top of his drunken friend. The rainbow knight looked up, locked eyes with the tavern keep who nodded and quickly turned around, and then the knight pulled Cantos off his scrambling friend. The knight punched the pudgy faced man square on his nose with a gauntleted fist. The light in Martin’s eyes snuffed like candles, and the knight stood to look toward the small tavern stage where a simple hunchbacked old man had just arrived to play the violin. The other patrons groaned from the short fight and looked away toward the stage.

  The old man’s form was nothing remarkable, but his cloak was black as the deepest night and seemed to swallow the light around him. His violin was made of what looked like solid silver. The bow was of gilded craft, and the spider threads of hair in it were the color of copper. The old man drew the bow across the strings for the first note, and the knight’s vision swam.

  #

  He stood motionless, the sap in his left hand, and felt a small rustling of wind in his hair and beard. The tavern was gone, erased in a flash. He stood on the sky looking down upon a mountain where the most beautiful woman he had never seen sat looking over the edge. Her braided red hair cascaded down her back and over a dark fur cloak. Her feet dangled over a ledge, and she was trying to control her breathing. He was above her, but not within reach, two strides distant. She looked up and through him as if he were not there. She squinted at the sun behind him, raising an arm to shield her eyes, and he realized he cast no shadow. The woman stood and walked back across an immense courtyard carved into the mountain’s peak and entered a gargantuan cavern filled with sinister mists. As she disappeared, suddenly he was standing in the midst of a broad cavern more regal in splendor than any courts of kings, with a pseudo-sun hanging from the ceiling. Rows upon rows of priceless treasures filled the space, and atop a distant mountain of treasure was a dragon the size of a great ocean ship. The rainbow knight watched as the dragon and the woman argued, though the only sound he heard was violin music permeating the space.

  As he looked around the room, he thought he could almost see other forms in the cave with him, some taller, some shorter. If he focused his eyes, he could make out some details. One was a full head taller than he and stood impassively with a spear taller still tipped with living flame. Another was about his height though thin and lithe, wore light clothing and held a pair of rapiers at the ready. The next could only be described as a prince, his robes, his whole bearing more regal than the others. But the rainbow knight could not focus long. Ever and again his eyes were drawn back to the woman in the center of the room arguing with the dragon. Her hair, her green eyes, her strength, her defiance, but also her softness, burned him with longing.

  Beauty slays a man heedless of its power, and new deaths were his by the breath. He saw her and thought he saw a need, the dragon toying with her. He must go to her! As he thought this, he heard a voice rumbling in his head. Be ye worthy of great love? Take the hazard. Come, take her from me if you can, weak human. The valiant will come. The weak will fail. Cowards dare nothing. Which be ye? Come, prove your worth, if any you possess!

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  #

  The rainbow knight blinked and winced at a sharp pain in his shoulders “I told you we shoulda just gutted him and left!”

  “Shut it, Martin, this Eras fella is wanted by the Brood in Bevin Town, and it’s triple if he’s alive.” Cantos huffed as he carried one of Eras’ armoured legs and dragged. Martin carried the other, lower and squat.

  Eras’ arms were pulled behind him at a painful angle, and he felt his gauntlets grinding against the dirt, the scraping of metal on stone and grit was cacophonous. He didn’t move for a moment, taking in the situation. Above him, the evening deepened as a sapphire moon rose in a star-strewn sky.

  “At least let’s strip his armour. Heavier than sin he is.” Martin huffed like a man crushed.

  Cantos spoke through gritted teeth, “Soon, gotta get a bit further out. Not far now.”

  Eras closed his eyes and let himself be dragged as he searched with his fingers for one of his small stiletto blades he kept tucked behind his wrist plate. His hands twisted against the earth, and he leaned slightly to the side of the shorter man.

  Both men stopped, and Martin looked back, “Oi! Is he awake? Or are you dumping more weight on me ya scarecrow git.”

  Cantos’ eyes shot back to Eras. Eras let his face loll stupidly to one side. Cantos narrowed his blue-eyed gaze, then sunk down a little lower, trying to match Martin’s height as he lifted up again on Eras’ leg, “if you had a bit of height to ya this’d be easier.”

  “Blaming the gods as usual, eh Cantos. Ever thought you’re just a weaklin?’”

  He spoke through a smile, “If the divine shoe fits.”

  Eras felt the edge of the sheathe where the stiletto should be and found it empty. He grit his teeth, but then felt something loosen. He worked his hands back and forth with the motion of the men’s movements, and slowly his hands came out of the gauntlets.

  Thank the stars these men are idiots. He thought as the gauntlets slipped off his hands and he heaved his body in a twisting motion, ripping his leg from Martin’s arms and throwing all his weight toward Cantos who swore and tripped to the side as Eras fell face down on the road.

  “Smother him, kill him!” Martin’s voice carried the punctuated sound of a knife unsheathed.

  Cantos yelled from the ground, “Triple, ya nutter! TRIPLE!”

  Eras put his hands against the ground and pushed up with all the strength he could muster coming to a knee just as Martin tackled him from the side. The weight of his chest plate shifted him sideways and his core gave way to a fall, but he was able to slip an arm under Martin’s armpit and kick off his one leg to generate enough momentum to roll on top of the man, crushing down with his full weight and armour.

  Martin hissed with pain and tried to stab but struck a section of armour with a tinny thud. Eras reached one hand to grab Martin’s wrist and pin the arm to the ground just as Cantos covered Eras’ mouth and tilted his head back, touching a blade to Eras’ neck that flashed in the moonlight.

  “Easy there, friend. My coinpurse’d prefer not to bleed you, but my blade is very thirsty.” Cantos’ voice was sharper than his knife. Cantos lifted upward, pulling Eras’ head with him, and the knight released Martin and strained to stand beneath the weight of his armour as he raised his hands up at a level with his head.

  Martin sputtered, “Slit him, Cantos, and have it done with.” He rolled out from under Eras and rubbed his ribs where the armoured weight had crushed him. He breathed raggedly. He tried to stand upright, but winced and leaned back over, arching his head up to look at Cantos. “Think I broke somethin’.”

  Cantos laughed, and the blade in his hand pressed slightly into Eras’ throat, making him lean back.

  Cantos removed his hand from Eras’ mouth and relaxed slightly, letting Eras’ head move a little forward

  Eras spoke without thinking, “I must go to her.”

  Martin and Cantos both twisted their faces strangely and said, “Her?”

  Cantos knife lifted from Eras’ skin a hair’s width, and Eras pulled both his hands to Canto’s forearm, ripping it down from his throat and pinning it to his chest plate. Martin shouted, and Cantos tried to lean back, but it was too late. Eras leaned his whole weight forward and kicked up to roll over his right shoulder, carrying Cantos with him. He couldn’t make a full roll with the weight, but as he fell, he drove Cantos’ face into the hard-packed road. A sickening crunch sounded, and Eras leaned to his right, the weight of his armour dislocating Canto’s shoulder with a loud pop.

  Martin yelled wildly and stepped forward, but Eras rolled away, and kicked the pudgy man’s knee from the side. The knee exploded outward punctuated by Martin’s agonized yelp, and the man collapsed like a dead tree under a hammering gale.

  Eras rolled sideways a few more times, creating distance before he stumbled to his feet with ponderous effort. He touched a hand to his throat and pulled it away, looking at the trickle of dark burgundy in the moonlight.

  Eras looked at Cantos unconscious in the dirt.

  Martin screamed, “I’ll gut you! Vile, wretched, oh, gods and stars and demons, by all the,” a fresh lance of pain silenced him with a choked breath and he seethed, staring at Eras with pained eyes.

  “We’ll call it a draw.” Eras said, as he held his hand to his throat, pressuring the small wound and hoping it would close. He swayed toward Martin, who remained on one knee, and said, “If you tell me where you put my arms.”

  Martin lashed out, throwing a knife from his free hand while his other hand cradled his ribs. The knife struck Eras’ steel breastplate and scored a small flash of silver beneath the layers of rust, then fell to the ground.

  “Martin O’Malley, you’re the smart one right?” Eras moved closer, the strength of the fight giving way to a cold anger, “Where are my arms?”

  Martin’s spit struck Eras’ thigh plate, and Eras sighed, “Have it your way.” He stepped forward and drove his knee plate into Martin’s squat nose. The man crumpled, and Eras knelt to take the coinpurse from his belt. He stood huffing, and opened the pouch, turning the leather opening in the moonlight and sorting through with a finger.

  “Maybe enough for a sword and a proper meal.” He said, as he moved over and flipped Cantos onto his back. He pulled that man’s purse as well and eyed it. Cantos groaned and started to mutter. Eras popped him again in the jaw and searched, a smile on his lips, “Maybe a cheap meal then, and a horse.”

  He gathered his gauntlets on his way back toward the tavern, cursing the weight of his armor between juddered breaths. For the first time in a long time he smiled. Whether for the thought of food or the emerald of the dream lady’s eyes, he couldn’t be sure, but his smile grew to whistling as he headed north.