“Tired of starving, to be quite frank, and even recreational drinking is beginning to lose its charms.” The knight made a courtly bow. “My name is Sir Blivet of no fixed address, until recently a retired (and impoverished) dragon slayer. This was not a happy state of affairs—in fact, I had recently begun to consider a serious return to strong drink—but lately it’s worsened. I’ve been dragged out of retirement by the people of Handselmansby in order to destroy you—they offered me a rather interesting sum…”
The dragon reared to nearly the height of the treetops. “You coward! You have foresworn yourself!” He made a rumbling noise, and a cloud of fire belched from his jaws, but before the stream of flame had gone more than a few feet Guldhogg began to cough. The fire flickered and died. A puff of steam, more wisp than cloud, floated up into the morning sky. “Just a m-m-moment,” the dragon said. “Give me a chance to c-c-catch my breath, f-foul knight.” He had stopped coughing, but had begun hiccoughing instead. At each explosion another steampuff spun lazily into the air. “Honestly, I will broil you very…” Hiccough. “I will…” Hiccough. “Broil you very thoroughly…” Again, a hiccough.
“Noble Guldhogg, most vintage of worms, spare me this tosh.” Sir Blivet sat down on the ground. He had not even drawn his sword. “The people of Handselmansby may not know you are old and unwell, but I do. You could no more broil me than you could earn a cardinal’s red hat from the pontiff of Rome.”
“Knight of a dog!” The dragon drew himself up once more. “Hmmmph. I mean: Dog of a knight! Perhaps I do have a bit of a problem with my flame just now, but I can still destroy you! Have I not my claws and teeth, or at least most of them? Can I not fly, with a fair tailwind and occasional stops for rest? Do not think me so easily defeated, insulting and unkind human person.”
“I agree, mighty Guldhogg. You are still a formidable foe, even in your age and infirmity.”
“Yes! Yes, I am!” The dragon leaned forward, his great yellow eyes narrowing. When he spoke, he sounded a bit worried. “Am I really such a laughingstock? The time was once when Guldhogg’s name was enough to set women screaming and children crying.”
“And it still is,” said Sir Blivet. “The…falloff in your skills is not widely known. In fact, the only reason it’s known to me is because I did a little investigation as I was trying to think of some way I could avoid fighting you. Because…” Blivet removed his helmet, revealing hair and beard that, although it could have been called salt-and-pepper, contained far more salt than pepper. Furthermore, although the hair on his head might once have covered a large territory, it had now largely conceded the front and top of the knight’s scalp and was retreating rather hurriedly toward the back of his head. “As you can see—and which contributes not a little to the unhappy state of my own affairs—I am not so young myself.”
Guldhogg squinted. “By my great scaly ancestors, you aren’t, are you?”
“No. I really didn’t want anything to do with this whole thing, but poverty makes powerful arguments.”
The beast shook his long head. “So despite what the advancing years have done to you, Sir Knight, you decided to attack a poor old dragon. For shame, sir. For shame.”
“Oh, for the love of my good Lord Jesu!” The man in the tarnished suit of armor shook his head in irritation. “Don’t you listen? I just said I don’t want to fight you. In fact, I would like to offer a bargain—a mutually beneficial bargain, at that. Will you pay proper attention?”
Guldhogg’s eyes narrowed again, but this time it seemed to be in careful thought instead of suspicion. At last the great worm nodded.
“I will listen, Sir Knight.”
“Call me Sir Blivet. Or even just Blivet. After all, we’re going to be working together.”
The wealthy burghers of Handselmansby, an up-and-coming market town whose Chamber of Commerce had aspirations to make it another Shoebury, or even a Thetford, threw a small celebration for Blivet at the Rump and Hock Inn, with a no-host mead bar and finger foods.
“Handselmansby is grateful for your courage and prowess, good sir knight,” said the mayor as he handed over the promised bag of gold. “But if you destroyed the terrible worm Guldhogg, where is its carcass?”
“Ah,” said Blivet. “Yes. You see, although my last blow was a mortal one, the fell beast had just enough strength to fly away, leaking blood and fire in what I promise you was a very unsurvivable sort of way.”
As the knight reached the five-mile post on the road out of Handselmansby a large shadow dropped from the sky and landed with an awkward thump beside him. It took Guldhogg a few moments to catch his breath before he could speak—he clearly hadn’t done much flying in recent years. “So it went well? They gave you the money?”
“Yes. And I have already divided it in half.” Blivet showed him the sacks and offered him one. “Here is your share.”