The Dragon Slayer...

“I’m looking for a woman.” The dominating figure darkened the doorway of the brothel, the stranger’s spurs resonating against the uneven flagstones. An uneasy hush settled over the occupants of the room leaving the repetitive thud of bed-frame meeting an upstairs wall to fill the silence.

“Aren’t we all mate.” A friendly but warning voice finally answered. The room was crammed full of sailors and soldiers made volatile by enforced celibacy. Their ship had probably found berth only that afternoon. As the stranger shifted forward a restraining hand was slapped on his shoulder.

“Move aside. Mate.” The stranger’s face was shadowed by a wide brimmed hat but the quiet bite of his voice carried unequivocal authority. Two swords were strapped across his back, the gleaming ivory hilts curving against his shoulder-blades like a pair of wings. There was also a bag slung casually over one shoulder. The hand eased cautiously away from the stranger as the whole company stared in nervous fascination at the bag. It was made from the hide of a dragon.

Dragon-skin could not be bought or bartered by either merchant or emperor. There was only one way to possess their skin. You had to kill it and take it yourself.

There had always been stories throughout the three kingdoms of the dragon-slayers. Men supposedly trained from boyhood in the ways of dark magic. They were widely feared, respected and hunted. Their secret knowledge was both a danger and yet of high value to each of the emperors. The men in the brothel, however, decided it was simpler and safer to pretend ignorance.

Unhindered Owain ap Draig took a seat at an empty table, its other patrons moving hurriedly elsewhere to join friends. A drink was warily placed before him and he settled down to wait. He had seen one of the slaves slip from the room during the confrontation and knew that it was only a matter of time before she arrived. Though he had pursued her relentlessly in the past months he felt tense at the prospective reunion. He may have faced down dragons and pards, but she was a different beast altogether.

“Well well. Hello handsome.” A husky voice crept along his skin and he ground his teeth against a shudder. He made a point of draining, slowly, the remainder of his drink before looking up in acknowledgment.

“Flick.” He greeted courteously, nothing in his manner giving away how he really felt about the woman before him. The petite beauty with her soft unblemished skin should have seemed out of place in a hell such as this but he knew that her appetites were every bit as coarse as the other patrons. She settled herself comfortably on his lap, her arms reaching around his neck in a way that made her unlaced gown gape revealingly. With over-familiarity she tipped his hat back so that she could see his face more clearly in the half-light.

“Such a shame.” She sighed to herself, gently running a finger over the puckered scar that distorted the left side of his face. It was the angry red of a recent wound and seemed to throb under her caress. He couldn’t help but catch the heady combination of wine and lust which fragranced her bare skin. “Would you like me to kiss it better?” Her lips brushed wetly against his ear. “Just like old times.”

Nobody even saw him move. One moment she was draped over him seductively and the next she was bent over the table with her arms twisted painfully behind her back. It was easy enough to subdue her struggles. Despite her sly and devious disposition he had the natural advantages of height, weight and strength.

“Like old times enough for you?” He questioned mockingly. The last time they had met of course he had been the one tied up. There was too much history with this woman to feel anything but the need for revenge, he reminded himself as she undulated against him suggestively.

“I do remember how you always liked this position. Though I never knew you enjoyed having an audience.” Savagely he yanked her to her feet. There was amusement colouring her remarkable eyes and her lips tilted saucily upwards. With bruising force he hauled her out of the brothel, unaware or unconcerned by the studious indifference of the other patrons.

“Where is it?” He demanded harshly once they were alone, the frigid bite of air striking him as a welcome relief.

“I don’t have it.” She didn’t feign ignorance at least. Any patience he possessed, however, had been spent by her seductive antics. Grabbing one of her hands he unfurled the fingers with incongruent gentleness. The blade hissed as he unsheathed it from his belt.

“Do you really except me to believe you?” Her body trembled slightly but he expected more from the snow that melted against her naked skin rather than through any fear of him.

“I don’t have it.” She reiterated calmly. “But I know who does.”