“Foul dragon,” declared the knight, “I am here to vanquish you!”  His armor shone dully in the sunlight pouring in from the mouth of the cave.  He pointed with a sword most dramatically.

The dragon stirred and yawned.  “What you packin’?” he asked in the strange dialect he was rumored to have.

The knight held his sword aloft.  “This is the legendary sword Daldring, delivered into my hands by fate!  It has sent evil fleeing in all corners of the world!”

“Oh, I see,” the dragon said.  He reached behind a rock and pointed something small at the knight, delicately placing one claw on the trigger.  “This is a gun,” he said.

“Hold on, wait.”

“It has armor piercing capabilities.  It can smite evil too.”  The dragon used a different claw to cock the weapon, making a distant click.  “Now hold still so I don’t spoil your armor.  That looks valuable.”

The knight scrambled for the exit, all dignity forgotten.  

Craigory had gotten used to the way the dragon’s voice made the floor vibrate.  He listened for pearls of wisdom while wearing thick boots.

“The key to any fight,” the dragon said, “Is keeping yo’ enemy on they toes.  If it’s a punchin’ fight, don’t let ‘em get balanced.  If it’s a magic fight, surprise ‘em.  What do you do when somebody comes at you with fire magic?”

“I use the shield spell you taught me, and attack back with… water?”

The dragon shook his enormous head.  “You pull out one of these,” he said, producing a handgun.  “If you hold it right, they’ll think it’s a wand and try a counterspell.  Funniest damn thing.”

The apprentice eyed the mysterious weapon that he was just beginning to learn about.  “And what if they’re familiar with dwarven crafting, and they can block the projectile?”

The dragon pressed a claw into a hidden recess at the butt of the gun.  It glowed slightly.  “Then you throw them for a loop anyway.”  He aimed the gun at the cave wall, and blasted a frost wave that left a shockingly large ice slick in its wake.  

Craigory nodded.  “Do I also make a joke about firepower in there somewhere?”

At the top of the mountain, on the flat peak ringed with carved obsidian blocks, a magic ritual was underway.  The great red dragon was observing a demonstration by his human apprentice.  

The man recited an incantation, waving his hands over the bone set on the ceremonial slab, then finished by tilting a candle to ignite the paper underneath it, which held the written spell.  The paper burned blue.  The man chanted further, taking one measured step back as the smoke rose into a swirling cloud that condensed into a human shape.

“Speak, spirit!” he concluded, pointing at the cloud with both hands, then clapping once.  The smoke blew in all directions, leaving the transparent form of an older man standing on the slab.

The spellcaster looked stricken.  He stared with wide eyes while the spirit peered around in confusion before spotting him.  Its face lit up in delight.

“Craigory!” the spirit declared.  “Did you make this illusion?  Your mother will be so proud.”

“Dad?” the caster asked in a strangled voice.  

He jumped when the dragon behind him burst into groundshaking laughter.  The spirit didn’t notice.  

“Is that yo daddy?” the dragon asked.  “Man, you just made up a great prank by accident.  You can’t tell me you actually meant to cast Speak To Dad instead of Speak To Dead.”  

His apprentice squeaked, then cleared his throat.  “I, uh, no.  I did not mean to do that.”

The spirit craned its neck.  “Who are you talking to, Craigory?  Is there interference from a different scry?  I haven’t seen this style before.  Very fancy.”

The dragon got to his feet, still laughing.  “Go ahead and have a chat.  I’ll be down in the library, gettin’ you some more books.  No more magic until we up your word skills.  I can’t believe you did this crap a third time.”

The apprentice objected weakly.  

The dragon gave him a look.  “You sent a massage instead of a message to Sylvester.  Thankfully his janky back needed some punching into shape.  Then you made some hilarious pockets with a mage armoire instead of mage armor.  It takes talent to screw up that bad.  Be comforted!  You have talent!”  The dragon laughed his way down the hill.  

Inspired by several writing prompts, here’s the second-to-last in the Thug Dragon miniseries!

~~~~~~~

After Craigory impressed his magic teacher with a flame spell, the dragon offered praise before turning a serious look on him.  “I have a question for you, firemouse,” he said.  

Craigory sighed, but didn’t react to the nickname.  It was a step up from pipsqueak.  “What is that, sir?”

“What’s your end goal?  Got any plans and dreams?”  The great dragon scratched behind an ear with false casualness, his claws scraping between scales.  “You know I’ll outlive you by a crapton, right?”

The ninth and final storybit!  Like the others, this was fun.  Maybe it'll be a book someday.  Or a comic.  Or a sprawling series of microfiction about a place where dragons are named things like "Tyronesaurus Red."  😄  

~~~~~

The Dragon Congregation was a spectacle of color, with every scale hue imaginable, and the sky filled with wings.  The food was an endless buffet from dozens of cultures and species.  The politics were hotly debated while the social dance flowed in all directions.

But the competition was what everyone really came to see.  Specifically the no-holds-barred elite round for the uncontested title of Hot Shit.

When yet another would-be monster hunter invaded the cave, the dragon was ready.  He faced down the upstart from his full height, a visage of blood-red scales, razor-sharp teeth, and severe disapproval.

“Go home,” he rumbled.  “Stop wasting my damn time.”

The human blustered, making what he probably thought was an impressive display with his enchanted scimitar.  He spoke of ending the threat to humankind that the dragon presented.

A loud snort of scorn was his reply.  “The only threat in here is from that hairstyle,” the dragon informed him.  “You look like a pineapple.  And what is that little cheese knife supposed to be?”  The dragon plucked something from a crevice in the cave wall.  “Here, I’ll fight you with my granny’s butterknife.  Whoops!”

With an exaggerated fumble, the dragon dropped the item at the human’s feet.  It was a large knife with glowing runes etched on the blade.  

The human snatched it up, then instantly screamed and cradled his hand.  His scimitar joined the knife in clattering to the cave floor.  

The dragon picked up the distracted human by the back of his armored shirt, then carried him at arm’s length to the cave entrance.  “I hope you learned something today, dickwad,” he said.  “Go find an alchemist to regrow those fingers.  And stay out of my way.”  He tossed the human into an undignified jumble, then strode back into the cave.  “Thanks for the scimitar,” he said over his shoulder.  

The man took the hint and scrambled away.  A different human was waiting inside, staring intently at the knife without touching it.  

“What just happened exactly?” he asked.  

“Granny liked her butterknife to melt the butter,” the dragon said.  “And she didn’t want anybody jacking it, so she put some magic jazz on the handle.  It’s been a great idiot deterrent ever since.  Hand me that clamp box, will ya?  I wanna put it away before somebody loses a toe.”

The human obediently picked up the weapon’s display case and offered it to his magic teacher.  “I take it this is very advanced magic that I won’t be learning for quite a while?”

“You bet your ass you won’t.  Learning that sort of hex is a short trip to lots of missing body parts.”

“I can be careful!  And I won’t use it irresponsibly!”

“That’s right,” the dragon agreed.  “Because you won’t get a chance.”  He put the knife back in its box, holding it carefully by the blade.  “Now c’mon,” he said, stashing it in that same crevice.  “Let’s get some toast.  All this talk of butterknives is making me hungy.”

“Great dragon!” called the human from outside the cave.  “I beseech an audience!”  There was no answer.  “I bring gifts to honor you!”  He continued in this vein until the sound of claws on stone echoed from within.

The dragon emerged into the sunlight, gleaming and magnificent, and looking very stern.  His scales were as red as blood, red as rubies, interlaced with patterns in gold, and his wings blocked out the sun.

The human fell to his knees.  “I apologize for bothering you, grand one.  I hope I did not wake you from slumber.”

The dragon’s rumbling voice shook the ground.  “I was taking a leak,” he said.  “What do you want?”

The human babbled praise, speaking of worship and honor.

“Let me cut you off right there,” the dragon said with a wave of one massive taloned hand.  “That’s great and all.  What do you want?  Cuz I don’t need someone to stare at me adoringly.  I can get a dog for that.  What are you hoping to get out of this little display?”

The human raised his head, and did his best to look honorably determined.  “I wish to learn your magic, if you will have me,” he declared.  “I have offerings for your greatness!  Will you allow me to present them?”

The dragon sat down with a thump.  “Why the hell not.”  He rested his scaly chin on both hands, folding his wings about himself.  “If I spot poison, I’m roasting you where you stand.”

“I wouldn’t dare!” the human exclaimed, scrambling to his feet.  “I would never stir to harm your grandeur—”

“Yeah yeah.”  The dragon waved a claw in the air.  “On with it, before you run out of compliments that start with G.”  

“Of course,” the human said.  He moved to the hand cart several strides away.  Talking quickly, he removed one item after another, starting with a recently-killed deer wrapped in a blanket.  He struggled to haul it in a dignified fashion.  “Fresh meat,” he said. “Untainted.  Ready to be flame-cooked to your preferred degree.”  He laid it out at the dragon’s feet, unrolling the blanket with a minimum of neck flopping.  

The dragon made a noncommittal sniff.  The human was already moving on to the next offering.  

“Select vegetables, prepared for easy roasting.”  A spear shaft covered in large tomatoes, onions, peppers, and cucumber segments was laid next to the deer.

“Hm, you even peeled the onion.  Points for effort.”

“Spices, if your greatness tires of the flavor of unadorned meat.  Wine, of the most prize-winning vintage around.  And, if I may be so bold, a selection of the shiniest gold coins.”

The dragon sighed, clearly unimpressed.  “Weak sauce, bro.  Is that your best effort?”

The human held up a finger.  “No.”  He reached into the cart for one more thing, lifting out an ancient book with care and delivering it straight to the dragon’s hands.  

“Who did you jack this from?” the dragon said, turning a page with one claw-tip.  

“I came by it honorably,” the human insisted.  

“Sure you did.  I bet you honorably cut the defense wards on it too.”  The dragon squinted at the book, then at the human.  “Sloppy, but you’ve got potential.  Might be able to learn a couple things.”

The human beamed, overflowing with joy.  “Thank you, your grandeur!”

“Let’s call this a trial period, aight?”  The dragon tucked the book into a belted pouch that was barely visible, decorated as it was in his own shed scales.  “I’ll eat you if you piss me off.  Swear not to be a pest?”

The human collapsed to his knees again.  “I swear!”  He frantically rolled up his sleeves.  “Behold my devotion!  Studious recreations of your own!”  His arms were covered in new tattoos that hadn’t quite finished peeling.  To a knowledgeable eye, they were clearly the work of the town’s expert tattoo artist.  Or, more accurately, of his more talented apprentice who did the bulk of the work while the master drank.  

The dragon looked closely, withholding judgement while the human held his arms aloft and tried not to shiver at the hot breath on his skin.

An alarming rumble deep in the dragon’s chest turned into a laugh.  He sat back and chuckled to himself while the human waited, wide-eyed.  

“Okay, first lesson,” the dragon said.  “You don’t spell ‘thug life’ with a Y.”  He got to his feet, still laughing.  “Come on inside and I’ll teach you how to read.  The oldest form of spells is spelling.  Grab your wheelbarrow of crap and we’ll have lunch.”  His laughter echoed off the walls.  

The apprentice crept into the cave on quiet feet, equally frightened of the dragon that might eat him and the master who might beat him.  So far neither knew he was there.  

The glow of light around the corner had to be the dragon’s sleeping chamber.  If he was lucky, the beast wouldn’t wake.  

He stopped to listen.  The regular sound was probably its breathing.  The intermittent one sounded more like … papers?  Turning pages?

The apprentice crouched low, held his breath, and peered around the corner.

It was a surprisingly civilized cave, with lit candles and throw rugs everywhere.  There even appeared to be a vent system in the roof for all the smoke.  The curtains on the doorways to other tunnels might have been pieced together from many chainmail shirts.  It was hard to tell.

The one thing that he was certain of, as he took in the sight, was that the dragon lounging in the center of the room was not asleep.  It was reading.  

The giant scaly beast lay on the thickest of rugs with its wings folded and its tail tucked alongside like a cat.  It held a red hardback book in its hands.  Fire-colored eyes stared unblinking into its depths.  

Before the apprentice could come to any conclusions beyond that, the dragon’s face broke into a terrifying grin.  

“Ah-HAH!” it exclaimed, making the apprentice duck back around the corner in panic.  “Gotcha!  Think you can step up and beat me at this?  In my house?”  Scraping sounds told of the movement of scales on stone.  The dragon had gotten up.

The apprentice found himself frozen in fear.  There was no way he could reach the entrance in time.  Any moment now, that toothy maw would appear around the corner to burn him or bite him in two; it didn’t matter which.  This was the end.

But the dragon’s voice was moving away.  Chainmail clinked.  

“Your bitch ass is mine,” it was saying.  “First edition, ha!  Probably tore the title page out your own dang self.  But only the real first edition has ‘salamander’ spelled with that many L’s.”  The dragon snorted loudly.  “Wack-ass fool.”

The apprentice, still holding position in the tunnel, came to realize that he wasn’t in immediate danger after all.  

The distant spang of a scrying crystal being activated was enough to get him moving.  He had enough time to escape.  The dragon was contacting someone.

Someone hard of hearing, by the sound of it.  The dragon fairly shouted from the other room as the apprentice stumbled into a run for the exit.

“Hey Sylvester!  Get your head out of your rose garden and answer the call!  I don’t care if I’m waking you up.  I got you dead to rights.”