The Dragon and the Apprentice: A Wizard’s Wager (The Chronicles of Sir John the Worm, Wizardslayer Book 1)

By Sully Tarnish

A dragon and a wizard duel every ten years to see who is stronger. Each time the duel ends in a draw. Realizing they're growing too old to continue fighting with one another they make a bet. Each must pick and train an apprentice. In ten years time, the apprentices will duel instead.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sully Tarnish
• Release date: Sep 16, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311279422

Sully Tarnish

SullyTarnish believes in dragons. He is the author of The Dragon and the Apprentice: A Wizard’s Wager and the forthcoming A Dragon Full of Magic.

Book preview

The DRAGON and the APPRENTICE

Book One of The Chronicles of Sir John the Worm

Sully Tarnish

Copyright 2015 Tarnished Books LLC

Smashwords Edition

About The Dragon and the Apprentice

Sir John the Worm is a dragon knight and the greatest wizardslayer who ever lived. But he has never been able to vanquish his arch-foe, Palomides the wizard. Every ten years the rivals meet for a duel; and each time the duel ends in a draw. Realizing he is growing too old to continue fighting Palomides, Sir John enters into a wager with the crafty magician. They shall each pick and train an apprentice. In ten years time, the apprentices shall meet and duel instead of their masters. Whichever one wins shall prove once and for all who is the strongest. There is a catch. Sir John must pick and train a human. This is no easy task for dragons hate humans even more than wizards. Where on earth will Sir John find a human who is worthy of being his apprentice and finally defeat Palomides once and for all?

Contents

The Dragon on the Mountain

A Knight Most Troublesome

The Wizard in the Forest

A Knight Analphabetic

Sir Therium the Hedgehog

My Stick Is Bigger Than Yours

How Hotspur Did Take a Holiday

How Sir John Did Battle With Four Hundred Wizards

How Sir John and Palomides Made a Wager

A Reet Fawce Wazzum

How Sir John Received a Belated Birthday Greeting

How Squire Shallow Saved Sir John from the Gallows of Despair

How Squire Shallow Did Further Save Sir John from the Gallows of Despair

Farmer Robert Preston of Preston

Sir John and the Archbishop of Mutton

How Palomides Did Catch His Golden Dragon

Dueling and Dining At the Royal Jousting Tournament

The Emperor of the Wind

A Pair of Terrible Plotters

How Sir John and Prince Hal Did Battle In the Cherry Orchard

Sir John’s Lexicon Of Fantastic Words

About the Author

The Dragon on the Mountain

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ON A MOUNTAIN above a forest, there lived a dragon.

In the forest below the mountain, there lived a wizard.

The two of them scheduled a duel at noontime. The dragon wanted to eat the wizard, and since it just so happened to be his one-hundred and eleventh birthday, nothing short of having gold coins shower upon him from the heavens would make a finer gift.

Noontime was absolutely the perfect time for a duel in the dragon’s opinion as this was also lunchtime, his favorite part of the day. As the saying went, he could kill two birds with one stone.

Squire Shallow, my servant, he thundered across Wormington Hall, the great lair in which he lived, sharpen my claws and check my scales! There is no better time to eat a wizard than on one’s birthday.

Yes, Sir John, said old Squire Shallow. He lifted one of Sir John’s immense claws and sharpened it with a grindstone. An array of sparks went shrieking into the ether, leaping past the dragons’ faces as they spoke with one another.

Ha! I shall roast the old fool in no time at all.

Oh, yes, no doubt! Not like last time when you lost a bit of your tail, Sir John.

The sun was in my eyes. Besides, I let him have that bit of my tail. He looked so beaten I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

It was very noble of you to end that duel in a draw, Sir John!

Yes, I am a most agreeable dragon, aren’t I?

No dragon ever had a greater heart than you, Sir John.

Well, be that as it may, no more Mr. Nice Dragon! Today I shall eat the old fellow, pointy hat and all! Sir John looked wistfully for a moment at the stub, which now sat where the end of his magnificent tail had once been.

It certainly wasn’t anything personal. After all, they had known one another for a score of years more than you and I have been alive. The dragon and the wizard were on friendly terms, going so far as to pay one another the occasional social call. Strictly speaking, each of them explained this to their respective friends as nothing more than a professional courtesy among spirited rivals. Since dragons were still dragons and wizards were still wizards, one must do what one can to keep up proper appearances.

They fought once every ten years, and always on a Friday. This was to give the victor the coming weekend to celebrate his triumph. To be perfectly honest, both dragon and wizard needed a full weekend to recover.

Whenever Sir John and the wizard battled, it was the talk of England. Citizens across the land gave homes and castles extra fortification in the rather unfortunate event that Sir John might happen to crash into one. Extra care and protection were taken against spells just in case some poor fellow out for a pleasant walk in the woods happened to accidentally find himself in the path of one of the wizard’s stray spells.

Sir John was known far and wide among dragons as an Expert Wizardslayer. However, because he had never been able to manage anything more than a draw with the wizard, the day of the duel was quietly, so as not to arouse the dragon’s ire, referred to as Sir John’s Bane.

Indeed, when the subject of his rival was brought up, Sir John was known to be remarkably sensitive and rather quick to challenge any dragon foolish enough to question his commitment to vanquishing the wizard.

Due to the coming match falling squarely on Sir John’s one-hundred and eleventh birthday, he felt it was an omen of good tidings. Finally! He would be victorious and gobble the old dullard up, once and for all.

Sir John lifted one of his newly sharpened claws and inspected it. I think I shall even weep a little today.

Squire Shallow affixed a jeweler’s loupe over his right eye and scrutinized Sir John’s chest for loose scales. Oh, Sir John, that would be exceedingly courageous. It takes a very special dragon to feel empathy for his adversary. Yes, you have surely earned the virtuous title of Sir John the Worm, Wizardslayer.

Thank you, old boy.

Lay on your belly, sir!

What? Oh! Yes, of course.

Sir John sprawled out upon his prodigious belly, looking rather like a gladiator receiving his rubdown before stepping into the arena for battle.

I always maintain a good dragon can never be too careful about his scales. One loose scale and you’re arrow fodder. The key to having good scales is a healthy diet of venison when you’re just a wee dragon lad.

I always found the taste of venison so appallingly unpleasant when I was a tot. My father always insisted we be thankful there was anything to eat at all. ‘John, my little one,’ he would always say, ‘eat up all your venison now or there’ll be no nibbles later.’ I much preferred horse. I’ve ever been the finicky eater though. Well, I guess I shall pay for it in my later dragon years. If only we didn’t have to grow old. Eh, Squire Shallow?

Jesus, the days that we have seen. In faith Sir John, we have. Jesus, the days that we have seen. ‘Twas a merry time, though.

Yes, yes, yes.

I myself have always informed you about to the merits of eating healthy, sir.

Do stop sounding like my mummy.

Sorry, Sir. John.

"What difference does age make anyway? Squire Shallow, today I will taste the sweetest delectation of all: Victory!

A group of voices interjected.

I hope you get flayed…

You invertebrate worm…

Good for nothing yellowbelly…

You milksop…

Pantywaist…

Sir John listened to the cacophonous babble of voices haranguing him from his victory wall. Well, the trophies certainly are excited today, aren’t they?

My goodness, yes! answered Squire Shallow.

They always get like this whenever you have a duel. They look forward to the worst. I suppose it gives them a short-lived moment of hope.

A row of wizards’ heads adorned the wall, each one mounted upon a plaque with the defeated wizard’s name inscribed upon it. For posterity, the date, time, and manner in which the wizards expired were also included.

The plaques read such things as:

‘Here hangs Ineptus the Sorcerer who tripped over his own robes, and was accordingly beheaded on Sunday morning, the fifth of April at 10:02 A.M.’

‘Here hangs Obliviosus the Wizard who did forget to attend his own duel, and was soundly thrashed to bits anyway on Monday, the fourth of January at 1:00 P.M.’

‘Here hangs Balbutire the Enchanter who stuttered whilst casting his spell, and was torn apart on Wednesday, the second of October at 8:00 P.M.’

‘Here hangs Furtivus the Diviner who tried to sneak into Sir John’s lair, and was promptly made into useful household furnishings on Friday, the thirteenth of June at 3:00 A.M.’

‘Here hangs Volaremale the Witch whose broom did not ascend to the heavens, and was scorched to a shivery on Tuesday, the second of March at 11:00 A.M.’

‘Here hangs Celsus the Conjurer who was humbled when he did find Sir John’s claw in his backside on Tuesday, the twenty-ninth of August at 4:00 P.M.’

‘Here hangs Ignavus the Seer who, when he saw a vision of Sir John’s imminent victory, did run for his very dear life on Saturday the second of July at 1:00 P.M.’

‘Here hangs Fragro the Sage who did, with his very pungent fragrance, lead Sir John to his place of hiding on the sixteenth of March at 10:00 A.M.’

An assemblage of brightly colored pointy hats and gnarled-looking old staffs sat at the base of the victory wall.

Wizards certainly are hard to kill, eh, Squire Shallow?

Oh, yes, indeed, they are, sir! You can roast them, eat them, chew them into tiny pieces, squash them into porridge, stomp on them, jump on them, bash their heads in with a tree, skewer them through and through, beat them into the soil with your tail, impale them through the heart, rip out their innards, and flail them into oblivion. Yet, they still come back. Awful little blighters.

Mollycoddle! shouted one of the heads.

Sir John bellowed at the offending voice, Mark my words! As I’m eleventy eleven years old today, you shall soon have a new companion up on that wall with the lot of you.

Be a good dragon and roll over on your back again, sir. I need to have one last look at your scales, Squire Shallow gently added, You mustn’t let them upset you before the big match,

What? Oh, yes, of course. The oldest trick in the book, isn’t it? Trying to break one’s concentration. Well, it certainly won’t work on this old dragon.

More like old fool, another wizard muttered a bit too loudly.

I heard that, said Sir John as he rolled onto his back.

Squire Shallow continued to scan Sir John’s scales with his jeweler’s loupe. He gasped, Oh my! Dear me! How awful! Sir, you’ve a bare patch on your stomach the size of a strapping stag. I don’t know how I missed it earlier.

Well, don’t stand there dithering about. Go on and fix it!

Don’t worry, sir! I’ll fix the bugger in a jiffy!

Squire Shallow ran across the lair and opened up an enormous chest. First, he rummaged through its contents, and then afterwards he held up to the light and inspected the numerous extra dragon scales the chest contained. A well turned-out dragon always kept spare scales on hand, and Sir John was of the sort that dragons liked to refer to as being very well and perfectly turned-out indeed.

Let’s see…no…not that one. That’s much too small. Squire Shallow tossed the scale over his shoulder. He heard one of the wizards cry out in pain. A volley of curses followed the cry. Sorry, sorry, Squire Shallow muttered as he continued searching. How about this one? Drat! The color doesn’t match at all.

Sir John grew impatient. Now, now, stop fannying about the lair and hurry up! We haven’t time. Just pick one! The match is looming, dear boy.

Wait! I’ve got it! The perfect one, sir! This one will certainly turn back even the most skillful of daggers.

The match! The match! Do be quick about it!

Squire Shallow rushed back across the lair to where Sir John waited. Now, said Squire Shallow, this may sting a bit.

Squire Shallow held the scale gingerly in front of his face and proceeded to exhale. A jet of flame shot out from his mouth. The fire turned the scale from jade green to dazzling orange, making it look like a small sun suspended in the air between him and Sir John. When Squire Shallow was satisfied that the scale was adequately heated, he stopped his exhalation.

Being quite out of air, he panted, I’m not as young as I once was, sir; pardon me.

The wintry dragon bent down and carefully placed the hot scale against Sir John’s belly. The extraordinary heat radiating from the scale allowed it to fuse easily with the other layers, thus permitting the scale to readily cover up the offending bare patch.

Standing back to appraise his work, Squire Shallow, though still out of breath, felt positively proud of his handiwork.

He said, Well, sir, that should turn back any trickery the wizard might conjure up today.

Sir John, who hadn’t winced even once (for dragons, especially old ones, have very tough skin under their scales), rolled back onto his stomach and then raised himself upright on his hind legs until his scaled body resembled a towering tree. If one were to include the mane of bony spikes sprouting from his head like a fine royal crest, Sir John was over one-hundred and seven feet long, making him a green great dragon, indeed. A set of long, white whiskers hung prominently from his snout. Within his maw, row upon row of teeth gleamed like an armory of polished spears. Two Old Nick ears were set firmly on either side of his head.

Sir John unfurled his wings; he flapped them vigorously, creating a windstorm that swept its way through the lair. The trophies cried out. Caught in the gale, their long gray wizard beards blew about. Sir John paused. The trophies, much to his joy, were finally silent.

Speechless, are you? Yes, I am the one to inspire awe, aren’t I?

I’m sure they would clap if they had hands, sir.

Yes, no doubt, no doubt, Squire Shallow. Well, Ignavus, old boy, what does the future hold? Victory I presume, hmmm?

The incorporeal wizard thought for a moment before saying, I do not see victory…No! Today will lead you on a path to utter ruin.

Dear Reader, we must pause here for a moment, leaving Sir John to ponder his witty rejoinder, so that we may answer the following questions about dragons: How does one have a duel with a dragon? Well, since they live high up in the mountains, and getting all the way up there can be quite a nuisance indeed, one just has to ring the guest bell the dragons rather politely placed at the bottom many years ago when very incensed farmers kept appearing with complaints about their dwindling livestock. Dragons jokingly refer to it as their dinner bell. Now, if you’re a strapping young lad looking to make your mark upon the world, you follow the serpentine road through the wood to the edge of the mountain, then ring the bell twice and wait. Within minutes, a dragon and his squire will fly down from the mountain. At this point, if the dragon hasn’t already eaten you, the following formalities shall occur: The squire will ask for your name, as your loved ones will need to be notified and, in some cases, devoured, if you should fall in battle. A date of birth shall also be requested. All personal information is promptly placed in an organizational ledger controlled by the squire who, at a succeeding date, will add your information to the defending dragon’s trophy wall.

You’ve also probably been wondering how on Earth dragons came to be knighted. Well, the very idea of chivalry began with dragons. After all, what self-respecting dragon would back down from a duel? Is there anything nobler than defeating your enemy in claw-to-claw combat? The notion that knighthood originated with men is a very common misconception.

Remember, there were dragons long before men came into the world. Why, it was none other than The Great Dragons of Yore who invented the idea of knighthood. Yes, yes, that’s right! Dragons had knights, Kings, princesses and queens long before men crawled out of the muck.

Of course men, having always been the sort who like nothing better than to take whatever they please (much to the consternation of dragons, who have always minded their own business), tried to purloin the dragons’ hoards. It must be duly noted that it was only a short time later when men began the practice of challenging dragons to duels. They very seldom emerged victorious from these early confrontations; but in the rare instance that a man did prevail over a dragon in combat, it was due to the following reasons:

The dragon had had an excess of sack the night before.

The dragon had had an excess of sack the night before.

The dragon had had an excess of sack the night before.

After such an encounter, the man would return to his village, bequeathing himself such titles as: Sir Robert the Valiant, Sir James the Strong, Sir George the Great, Sir William the Renowned, Sir Alexander the Lofty, and Sir Roy the Really Quite Lucky.

The man would then proclaim himself the King of the entire village, regardless of whether anyone in the village wanted a King or not, and proceed to make life truly miserable for all involved.

It was only later in their quest to defeat dragons that men became more cunning and skillful. To win their battles with draconis, men invented weapons like the cannon and the bow and arrow. It was from dragons that men also learned how to harness the power of fire.

These weapons were most effective — so effective that many of the dragons fled and took permanent refuge in the mountains — and yet to dragons, the weapons of men were dishonorable tools for doing battle, for they laid bare the cowardice of mankind. Men were infinitesimal creatures who couldn’t defend themselves separately, so they had to band together like rats. Men were the scourges of the world!

I might also add that nothing is as embarrassing to a dragon as being bested in battle by men. A wizard is a creature of magic and therefore a formidable opponent for any dragon. Men, though, with their pointy sticks and tiny swords, which look to a dragon like misplaced parts of a toy set, are the lowest of all living things. Nothing else is more repugnant or impertinent to a dragon’s eye.

Dear Reader, remember this last bit of information well, for it shall be of great importance later in the story.

Now, back to our narrative.

Sir John chafed at the wizard’s prediction. "You are the most ill-mannered group of trophies I’ve ever kept. Not to mention