Short Story – “The Thirsty Dragon”
It had been three months since the dwarf had set out north from her mountain home. Dilldra had damn near spent every crown she’d earned making the trip, and was left with only two of the original four barrels of mead she’d been forced to haul across the country. It had been a tough trek through bandit-infested wilderness, but it would all be worth it. If she could just get the dragon to take a sip of her wondrous mead, it would put Dilldra’s name in the history books and cement her brewing abilities.
Dragons, as Dilldra well knew, didn’t usually collect gold. That was a common misconception. What they coveted was valuables of any kind. The dragon she was destined to meet, Illixiodora, had accumulated the most impressive gathering of spirits, ales, mead, and alcohol of all kinds. She was a connoisseur of every sort of night beverage, and only the best drinks made it into her collection. That meant Dilldra’s concoction, known in her hometown as Rabbitfoot Mead.
The dwarf pressed on through the final town of her journey, ignoring the squeaky wheel that had slowly been driving her towards madness. The mostly human townsfolk leered at her as she passed, and she paid them no attention. Dwarves didn’t usually make the trip this far north, and there was a bloody good reason for that. Despite the stares and whispers, though, she marched on, determined, leading the old pony and cart towards the edge of the town.
Most dragons tended to live in places far out of humanoid reach, like dark caves or deep forests. Illixiodora had chosen the opposite. The dragon, whom Dilldra could only imagine as being a massive, red-scaled monstrosity, had chosen a small town called Flagfloor to settle in. According to the legends she’d heard, the beast had taken over an abandoned mine some decades ago, reformed it into a lair befitting her size, and then built a magnificent tavern where she could serve the beverages she so coveted.
That didn’t interest the dwarf much. She wasn’t here to sample famous wines or ale. No, she was here to add her own to the magnificent collection. Any and all brewers who can get their drinks approved by the dragon often find fame and fortune around the next corner.
Dilldra hadn’t been sure how much of the rumours she’d heard had been accurate, but seeing the tavern now, she knew it had all been true. The building was a five-storey work of art. It was all in the little details, though. The more you looked at the tavern, the more you noticed. By far the best detail was the little dragons of stone, wood, and plaster dancing around the corners of the windows and the frames of the doors. It brought the tavern to life in a charm she’d rarely seen in others.
The Thirsty Dragon was perhaps the most fantastic tavern Dilldra had ever seen. The sight alone made the three months of difficult travel worth it. Still, she hadn’t come this far just to marvel at the place outside of the door. Tucking her beard into her belt and hoisting one of the barrels beneath one arm, the dwarf took a deep and considered breath, then moved inside.
The heavenly chorus of quiet conversations, loud laughter, and daring music accosted her ears first. This was swiftly followed by a luxurious mixture of aromas from the many drinks foaming in the mugs at the tables. Sweet, nutty, spicy, fruity, strong, weak — it was all here if you took the time to focus on a particular flavour. The tavern was packed full. At every corner sat a person drinking the fine variety on offer. And there was a fine variety too. Dilldra could see it on the chalkboard that covered the entire left wall. A thousand or so beverages, each individually priced.
It was all becoming a bit much. Dilldra had to suddenly swallow her nerves as she pushed her way through the patrons. Of the dragonbloods, humans, gnomes, stone myers, tenderfeet, and more, it was painfully hard not to notice that she was the only dwarf in a tavern filled with strangers.
The dragonblood bartender poised his sharp slitted eyes in Dilldra’s direction. Behind them, the dwarf could see shelves of strange and exotic bottles, each containing a spirit that had made it into the collection. Her eyes were focused on the archway, though, which took centre stage behind the bar. It led into pure darkness and smoke drifted out of it. Black smoke. The kind you got with a wayward fire. The wispy fumes floated out and disappeared into the ventilation above.
‘Yes?’ The bartender asked sharply.
Dilldra took a deep breath and shifted the barrel a little higher under her arm. ‘I’m here to see the owner.’
The bartender stopped for a moment, then leaned his ear over the bar. ‘Come again?’
‘I’m here to see the owner,’ Dilldra repeated, this time a little louder.
‘That’s what I thought you said.’ The dragonblood smiled, and without warning, he threw his hand towards a hanging bell and rang it loudly. People stopped dead in their conversations — all mutters and laughter ceased instantly — and the tavern became as still and silent as the middle of a church service.
Dilldra looked around, confused, clutching her barrel to her like a safety blanket. There was some grinning, some shocked looks, even some laughter and gasps, but every eye was on her. A painful moment passed. Then another. Then there was a stirring, a rumble, from deep beneath her feet.
‘Do you think your beverage is worthy of entering my collection?’ The voice was deep but also sweet, and somehow shockingly sinister. As the words came, the tavern shook slightly. The dwarf’s heart dropped at the sound. ‘Well?’
‘Y-yes!’ she spoke up. ‘I do!’
Eyes appeared in the darkness of the archway. Large eyes, fierce and red, and truly piercing. Dilldra became paralysed with fear at the sight of them. They seemed to be staring into her soul.
‘You may present your beverage for my liking.’ The bartender lifted the bar at this silent command to allow her through — a solemn smile on his face. ‘Be warned, for if you do, and I find you have wasted my time, it may be the end for you.’
Dilldra had heard that part before. It’s why the patrons of her own shabby tavern, more like a shed compared to this place, had tried to warn her away. The dragon eats those who present something unworthy of her collection. That wouldn’t be a problem, Dilldra had thought, my mead is the best around. Now, though, being here, surrounded, she was beginning to have second thoughts.
It took a great effort for the dwarf to make her feet move. She was shaking as she lurched behind the bar and towards the archway. The eyes had disappeared now, receded into the black, but that didn’t make approaching the utter darkness any easier. With a final gulp, Dilldra passed through. It was like walking through a dangling sheet. The darkness drew over her and was slowly replaced with light.
Illixiodora sat on the other side. A gargantuan, lizard-like creature that filled the cavernous space behind the bar. Her great, red-scaled body folded around itself in the same way you might expect from a cat — with her feet tucked and crossed beneath her, and her tail flicking eagerly from side to side. The spectacle of the sight suddenly overcame Dilldra’s fear. Not just of the dragon, which was as impressive, of course, but the sight of thousands of barrels of ale and mead. The dragon had turned the room into a warehouse and had become the only worker.
‘You are a dwarf?’ Illixiodora said in surprise. ‘I believe you may be the first to visit my tavern. You’re certainly the first to bring me something to consider.’
‘I-I’ve…’ Dilldra calmed herself, taking deep breaths and trying to ignore those piercing, expectant eyes. ‘I have brought you something from my homeland, oh great Illixiodora,’ she bowed low and pushed the barrel towards the edge of the balcony that oversaw the dragon’s lair. ‘This is a drink of my own making, the finest in all of Doomgar. It is called Rabbitfoot Mead.’
A colossal claw reached out towards the dwarf. For a moment, Dilldra thought it was all over, but then it took the barrel carefully between thumb and finger and brought it over to the dragon’s eyes for inspection. ‘Why have you named it this?’
‘Uh, well,’ Dilldra rubbed her arm nervously. ‘When I made the first batch, my lucky rabbit’s foot fell into the barrel. I, uh, didn’t know this until someone took the first sip.’
‘Interesting. I do love a beverage with character.’
With a careful precision that Dilldra had never thought such a large creature could possess, the dragon ripped open the barrel and poured the contents into her mouth. Illixiodora swilled it this way and that, occasionally sniffing the barrel to gather the aroma, and finally swallowed the mead.
Painful seconds passed as the dwarf stood on the edge of her heels, stroking her beard to the point she almost ripped it off in anticipation.
The dragon turned back to her at long last, her eyes a little less piercing, words hovering on her lips. ‘It’s rubbish.’ She tossed the barrel back over the balcony. Dilldra ducked as it slammed and smashed against the cavern wall, falling then into pieces. ‘Unworthy of my collection of fine beverages from across Everfall.’
‘Wh-what!?’ Dilldra whimpered, genuinely shocked. ‘How? Why!?’
The dragon’s head came in closer. Dilldra covered her nose against the smell of meat on her breath, hoping she wasn’t inhaling a deceased brewer. ‘I have tasted many great dwarven meads over the centuries, and although this does have its charm, it is still far off perfection. More of a hometown favourite than an outstanding drink.’ She sighed, pulling back a little. ‘You have talent, young dwarf, but are ill-experienced. It is clear to me from the taste. Yet, you do have promise and certainly ambition.’
‘Are you going to kill me?’ Dilldra blurted it out before she’d even had a chance to realise what she was saying.
Illixiodora bared her fangs, running her pointed tongue over them. ‘No,’ she said finally. ‘I won’t kill you. Dwarves make terrible meals anyhow.’
Dilldra wiped a bead of sweat that had been forming on her brow. ‘I came from such a long way. I really thought—’
‘Stop,’ said Illixiodora. ‘I care very little for your struggles. What interests me is fine mead to add to my collection.’
‘I apologise.’ Dilldra picked up the pieces of the barrel hurriedly, not wanting to push her luck, and turned back towards the archway. All she could picture now were the dwarves back home, her friends and family, who had truly believed she had created liquid gold but had not been convinced she should make the trip.
‘Are you not listening to me!?’ Illixiodora spoke, a hint of anger in that deep voice. ‘You have promise, and I am only concerned with adding the greatest of meads into my collection.’ Dilldra turned back, somewhat confused, eyebrow raised. ‘You will refine your skills and passion as a brewer over the next two years. Then, on the anniversary of this day, you will return to me with a beverage worthy of my collection.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘I wouldn’t concern yourself with that.’ Illixiodora’s great head moved away from her. ‘You may now leave.’
The dwarf returned to the old pony and the cart with the squeaky wheel. A feeling of dread was bubbling inside of her as she turned them away from the tavern and put her back to the magnificent building. Dilldra had two years to create a mead surpassing all other meads. She didn’t know how, but she had to find a way. Not just for the sake of her own life but because she still wanted her name, along with her mead, to go down in history.
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