"You didn't kill it," fumed the customer, "You said you would kill it."
"We've had some, er, labor setbacks," said Bjorn, head of DragonSlayers Inc, a startup boutique firm from several valleys away.
"I don't see an excuse clause in the contract," the customer shot back, "Kill the dragon or we're done."
"The dragon can't be killed," said a rich Scottish voice striding up to meet them.
Bjorn recognized the stealthy character, by name of Connery, from the Information Superhighway Roadside Assistance Service.
"I didn't realize that RAS was in the area," Bjorn quipped, offering a hand to Connery.
Connery grasped Bjorn's hand and shook it once, "We're all over. Been doing a little cleanup of this or that."
"What's this about the dragon," asked the customer, "That it can't be killed?"
"Of course not," Connery smiled, "It's a dragon. It's immortal."
"Did you know this?" the customer glared at Bjorn, "Have you been stringing us along?"
"No," Bjorn defended, "We kill dragons. It's what we do."
"Well," Connery chuckled, "Not real dragons, anyhow."
The customer's lackey approached them with a small flagon of tea, poured a stein for each of them, and departed.
"The dragon is immortal," Connery muttered, sipping his tea.
"That's impossible," Bjorn said through a long gasp, "We've killed dragons before - we "
"But of course you have," Connery smiled dismissively, drawing another casual sip.
Bjorn stared at him, unable to form another word.
"If the dragon can't be killed," asked the customer, "Then what?"
"In the nether worlds, beyond the mapped regions, you'll see little notation There Be Dragons," Connery said softly, "And whether there be dragons or not, it's uncharted territory. Places no man has ventured, but rest assured danger lurks. Unknown to the uninitiated."
"So you know what lies in the uncharted territories?" Bjorn sneered.
"It's why I'm a guide and you're a dragonslayer," Connery huffed, "Whether you know your way or not, dragon chow comes in many shapes and sizes," he put his hands up as if to size-up Bjorn, "Many shapes and sizes."
"Funny," Bjorn quipped, but it clearly wasn't funny, "All we have to do is get close enough."
"Reminds me of a time," Connery said wistfully, "Once I knew a man who you could skewer a hundred times and he'd still get right back up."
"Ahh, the Highlander," said Bjorn, "I've heard of him."
"Well, he never lost his head," Connery huffed, "Or that would've been the end of him."
"What are you saying?"
"The treacheries of the lands beyond are many. You have to keep your wits about you. Keep your head."
"Keep my head, got it," Bjorn said sarcastically, "Anything else?"
"You need to deal with the whole dragon," Connery advised, "Not just the part you wrap with that silly leash. It won't hold the dragon. Only a dungeon will."
"So we need an enchanter?" Bjorn smirked.
"In no uncertain terms," Connery said, laughing, "You have a go at that dragon on your own. Go in there with no more than an enchanter's bag of tricks, and he'll make an ash out of you!"
Bjorn gulped, "We'll see about that!"
One of the lackeys turned to the other and chortled, "He thinks he's James Bond!"
"What do you know about it?" Connery shot back with piercing eyes, "The dragon sends your consultants to the street and you send the dragon to the morgue. Is that how it's done in data warehousing?"
"Basically, yes," snickered a lackey.
Connery whirled, "No morgue will hold him." He turned to the customer and glared hotly, "What are you prepared to do?"
"Sign the contract," said the customer, quickly applying a signature. He stuffed the papers into Connery's hands and hastily departed, leaving the men to set sail and dispatch the dragon as soon as possible.
The boat ride to the dragon's coast was uneventful until the boat ran aground near the shore, screeching loudly against the rocks as its keel protested with a deep, gutteral groan.
"That's noise will stir the dragon," Bjorn bemoaned. He'd hoped for a more stealthy entrance.
"Hopefully only stirred," Connery quipped as he snatched up his bag, "Not shaken. Won't do to have him awake when we approach, right?"
"Coastline is enormous," Bjorn complained, "How will we ever pinpoint his location?"
"To find the dragon, you'll need to think his thoughts. Know your adversary. Know his heart."
"Yeah, Dragonheart," chuckled a lackey, "Seen the movie."
Connery ignored him and leapt from the boat onto the dry shore. "Welcome to the Rock," and then looked out over the vast, scorched wasteland, a product of the dragon's handiwork. He led the team up the rocky slope to the first rise, whipped out his spyglass and waved his hand to the others to belay their ascent.
"What's he doing?" asked one lackey to another.
"Lookin' around, I guess," smickered one, "Guess nobody told him that the dragon sleeps all day."
"What was that?" Connery whispered loudly enough for them to hear, "You think the dragon sleeps all day? Who are you kidding? Maybe you only struggle with him in his lair at night, but he breathes fire all day long. He never sleeps. He never dies."
"Where did we find this kook?" asked another, "He's as nutty as a fruitcake."
"He'll eat you alive," Connery sneered, trying to spot motion anywhere along the landscape before proceeding. In the distance, a dank mist arose from the ground near some caves. Connery zoomed in and spied dragon scales littering the ground. "Let's go."
The team made the tedious crossing without incident, until they stood before the open, reeking maw of the dragon's lair.
"Who wants to go first?" Connery chuckled.
"I will," said a lackey fearlessly, "I've taken down enough of these."
"But of course you have," Connery strode to the nearest large boulder while the others scattered for cover. After several tedious minutes, all of them could now feel the impact tremors shaking the ground, growing in intensity as the beast ascended from his lair to the cave's mouth.
Then the horns appeared, fifty feet from point-to-point as they slowly rose from the hole. Then the head,larger than a common city bus and almost twice as long. The dragon stared down the lackey for a long moment, then continued to ascend from the hole, growing larger and more hideous with each passing second until his entire upper body was revealed, from his head down to his midsection, standing over ten stories tall. He burst-extended his massive wing membranes with a loud, deafening snap, and then pointed his head straight up to gather a deep breath of air.
Connery reached down to pick up one of the many dragon scales scattered all over the ground. Five inches across and eight inches long, made of the most impervious stuff on earth. He flipped it over and shuddered to realize the dragon's age, betrayed in the scale's growth rings. Four thousand years, this animal had been eating and breathing fire.
The young lackey had forgotten to breathe. This dragon was orders-of-magnitude larger than any dragon he'd ever dealt with. In fact, the sheer scale of the dragon made him feel light-headed. Gathering his presence of mind, he took a defiant stance and shouted, "Begone, Dragon!"
Connery turned away, trying to hold back a snicker that could reveal his location to the dragon's attenuated senses.
The dragon pointed his nose straight down, cocked his head to the side, opened his mouth and released his breath. The column of high-intensity chemical fire blasted downward on the lackey, instantly reducing him to ash and causing the rocks all around where he'd stood to glow and almost melt.
Connery glanced over to the rest of the team, cowering behind the rocks in hiding, not believing that the dragon was so huge and powerful, and feeling completely beyond their depth. They stared, partly in awe and partly in concern, as Connery stepped out from behind his hiding place and boldly strode up to the dragon's cave.
The dragon once again drew breath into his nostrils to recharge his furnace, when Connery simply placed his hands behind his back and stared deeply into the dragon's eyes.
The dragon stared back, unable to comprehend the feeling of drowsiness suddenly overtaking him. He slowly lowered his head, then his body, down to the ground to gently lay next to Connery, unable to break his eyes away from Connery's deep, mesmerizing gaze.
Once completely settled, Connery reached out to tap the dragon's front jawbone as it drifted off to sleep, "There now," Connery said soothingly, "That's a good lad."
"How is this possible?" Bjorn gasped, stunned at how easily Connery had mastered the beast.
"Your friend told the dragon to leave," Connery huffed, "But the dragon isn't going anywhere. He lives here and you people don't. In fact, he's been around so long, and you people come and go so often, that he sees you as decorations, not even permanent fixtures in his home."
"But he just laid his head down and went to sleep," Bjorn noted, "How did you do it?"
"The dragon serves me," Connery said slowly, "Not the other way around. If the dragon needs to breathe fire, it's because we've not done a good job harnessing the dragon, not just because the dragon is mean."
"So dragon's aren't mean?"
"Oh, their born mean," Connery chuckled, "And they bite. Whom they bite and when, is ours to control. That's why we have dungeons. Places where the dragon will survive but under our control. Think about putting that dragon's breath to work in boiling water, making steam to run a turbine. Now the dragon is working for us."
"Can't be a happy existence for him."
"Happy? Perhaps not. Necessary? Most definitely. You came here to kill him or banish him. He knows his place. He only responds to someone who knows it as well as he does."
"You're an enchanter, aren't you?" Bjorn said, realizing Connery's identity.
"Some call me, Tim."
