Ewnder the Dragon and Sir Yowann
by Kevin McClung
Day 1
Justice is the smell of a heretic burning at the stake. It is the sound of him crying out to the old gods to save him, but they do not, for they are false. It is the sight of his face the moment he realizes too late that he has put his faith in the wrong deities. It is the taste of his charred corpse. As the warmth of a cold midwinter’s sun massages my scales, I know that another wrong has been righted. Long live the new gods.
Goblins sweep away the ashes in preparation for the next prisoner. I look down the cliff to the foot of the mountain, where orcs are skinning alive a runaway slave. A few feet away from them, the man who tried to help her escape is being hanged, drawn and quartered. Along the shore of a cove, ogres are hauling away a hungry peasant who has forgotten that fishing is a privilege reserved for the nobility.
I should feel pride in my contributions to bringing law and order to the lawless land of Iwerdhon, and I do. However, I also feel the uneasiness that comes with knowing that it might fall apart any day. Only the iron fist of Per the Sorcerer stands between equilibrium and anarchy.
The sound of drums interrupts my thoughts. Three short beats followed by a long one. Three more short beats followed by one more long one. My worst nightmare is about to come true.
I fly to a fortress on the other end of the island. I swoop down to the foot of a cave outside the castle walls. There, my twin sister lies dead, and all the gold is gone. Dogs are tearing apart the hoofprint-covered body of a beggar who got in the way. Yes, my worst fears have been confirmed; someone has robbed the treasury. I say, “Goodbye, my twin. I will find out who did this and get all the gold back. You have my word.”
There is an incomplete causeway jutting out half a mile from the northernmost tip of Iwerdhon. It consists of seventy-seven slabs of stone that get progressively shorter until the last one disappears beneath the sea. That is where a knight in golden armor is riding his white horse. Seventy-five elves on white ponies follow close behind. A leprechaun on a gray donkey brings up the rear. Each of them carries a pot of gold.
By the time I catch up to them, all but the leprechaun have vanished into thin air. He himself is about to reach the final stone slab in the causeway, so I have to think fast. I land in front of him. Frightened, the donkey rears up, throwing the leprechaun and the pot of gold to the ground. My lungs fill up with fire, and I prepare to execute the thief, but he stops me and makes the following plea:
I beg you, dragon, do not slay.
I dream of life and not of death.
Please take my gold and ask away,
but spare me from your fiery breath!
Now, you must understand that my race lives by a strict code of honor consisting of three unbreakable rules. The first one is unwavering loyalty to our master. The second one is to be true to our word. The third one is to show no mercy. For the first time in my life, I face a moral dilemma. In order to obey the second rule and keep my word to my sister, I will have to break the third by sparing the leprechaun’s life.
I sigh out a puff of smoke. “Very well,” I say. “I have three questions for you. First, who would have thought to look for the kingdom’s gold in a humble hole in the ground instead of in the castle keep? Second, when will he return? Third, what will be the manner of his returning?”
Once more, the leprechaun opens his mouth to speak:
The knight will come again at dawn.
His name’s Sir Yowann, knave of Skos.
The maidens sing a mournful song.
Their sacrifice will be a loss.
These verses refer to the monthly sacrifice of seven virgins, which is necessary to appease the new gods. Tomorrow, Sir Yowann will be back to rescue them. Before I can ask for more information, the leprechaun jumps into the water, turns into a dolphin, and swims away.
As I return home, I try to reassure myself. In all my three centuries of life, I have obeyed all three rules of my race. I have broken the third one just now, but the first two remain unbroken. Not bad. Not bad at all.
Day 2
The next morning, I inspect the altar where seven young women are tied up. Under ordinary circumstances, the usual guard of one dragon, two trolls, three ogres, and four orcs would suffice. In consideration of my warning, however, Per has hired a team of mercenaries. There are seventy-seven of them, all of whom wear dark cloaks. They are mounted on griffins except for the shortest one, who rides a three-headed poodle.
The two trolls approach the first victim. They unsheathe their knives and cross them against her throat. I nod my head. Before they can execute the maiden, they both fall dead to the ground with arrows in their backs. Treachery is upon us.
The three ogres rush at the nearest mercenary, but they too fall dead in a shower of arrows. Right as I am opening my mouth to attack the hired army, the four orcs get in the way at the last second and die in the crossfire. At that moment, Sir Yowann lifts his hood and comes forward with his sword drawn.
“Villain!” he cries. “Release these girls now or die.”
“Never. They belong to the new gods now.”
“In that case, you shall belong to death!”
Sir Yowann slices at my hide, which is too hard for his steel. It begins to rain, so fire cannot help me now. I swing my tail, which the knight blocks with his shield. I scratch his armor with my claws. I duck just in time before he can take a swing at my head. The miss catches him off guard. Forward momentum causes him to slip on the wet ground, and then he falls on his back. I tear off his helmet with my teeth and swallow it. Big mistake. Perhaps a fatal mistake, because now I am choking.
The knight ties the seven captives onto the elves’ horses. “Let us be off!” he orders.
“What about the dragon?” asks the leprechaun.
“Leave her to die. We must be gone before Per’s men arrive.”
The leprechaun remains behind as Sir Yowann and his seventy-five elves gallop toward the causeway. I am still choking when he whispers,
It’s my turn now. I’ll save your life.
Just promise not to fight again,
and promise not to join the strife
when he comes back. (Don’t ask me when).
I am about to lose consciousness when I nod my head in agreement. The leprechaun climbs on my back to perform the Penhallow Maneuver. Two seconds later, the helmet shoots out of my mouth and bisects a tree that the three-headed poodle is standing under. The leprechaun rushes to save it, but too late. The upper half of the tree crushes them both.
They are dead, so I bury them. It is the least I can do, because I am about to break my word for the first time in my life. I really have no choice in the matter, of course. Dying would have been disloyal to my master, as would keeping my promise not to fight Sir Yowann again.
I fly to the causeway, but the knight and his seventy-five elves are gone by now. Down below, I notice four of the seven virgins lying on the stone slabs. Three of them are dead and the fourth is dying. All of them are horrendously mutilated. I fly down to investigate. I ask, “What happened?”
The mortally wounded maiden says, “Sir Yowann asked all of us to marry him. Only three of the girls agreed to his proposal. You can see for yourself what he did to the rest of us.”
“When will he return, and what will he do next?”
“Tomorrow night, he will come to Per’s yearly audience. Murder will happen, so beware.” Those are her last words.
Day 3
Outside the castle, a snowstorm roars. Inside the throne room, a blazing fire tries and fails to overcome the cold. Only Per the Sorcerer’s frown of contempt is visible under his hood. Underneath his layers of black robes, he is a bald, emaciated old man with pale skin. My master.
I stand guard at the entrance. The first petitioner to arrive is a widow. The second is an orphan. After that, a team of pigs drags in a paralyzed man on a stretcher. No sign of Sir Yowann yet. There should be more security, but most of the orcs, goblins, ogres and trolls and one of the three remaining dragons have just fought off a raiding party of elves. Now, they have crossed the causeway to launch a punitive expedition into the land of Skos. I know not if they made it there. At any rate, they have all disappeared upon setting foot over the last rock of the causeway.
The widow and the orphan prostrate themselves in front of Per. The woman says, “O kind Sorcerer, hear my plea. My husband was a soldier in your army. Last year, he tried to kill the knave Yowann and died trying. I have waited all this time for a pension that has not come. My son is sick. Without money, there is no medicine for him. Without medicine, he will die. Have mercy on us, I beg you!”
Per the Sorcerer sneers. He says, “Your husband was a commoner. It was not his place to fight Sir Yowann. He tried to claim that honor for himself out of selfishness, not courage. Had he succeeded, I would have handed him over to the torturers. He is lucky he died instead. Now off with you two.”
At the entrance, the paralyzed man on the stretcher calls out. “Hark! I will gladly share my money with the two of you, but first I have my own petition to make. Pray carry me over to the throne.” The woman and her child oblige.
Addressing Per this time, the man says, “I have heard much of your sorcery and more of your new gods. Behold, I am crippled from birth. Heal me now with a spell, and I will serve you for the rest of my days. Or, name one of your new gods who can make me whole, and I will worship him alone until the day I die.”
Per’s sneer morphs into a scowl. He snaps, “How dare you talk to me! You are more worthless than a slave. Just by breathing the air and drinking the water in my kingdom, you steal from worthier men. Away with you! Get out of my sight!”
The paralyzed man says, “Very well. I will pray to the weakest of the old gods instead. Allow Efnysien to judge between us.” He begins to pray:
Myttin da, gorthugher da
Mar pleg, meur ras
Fatla genes, splann, drog
Dha weles
The man gets off his stretcher. “Villain!” he cries. “Your reign is at an end, for it is the great Efnysien who speaks through me. Prepare to face the wrath of the old gods!”
Next, a few things happen at once. I open my mouth to roast the intruder. Per waves his wand and shouts the word teyrdelen. The assassin ducks to avoid the spell. It hits me instead, so I become a shamrock. Now, I am powerless to save my master’s life.
Efnysien holds a dagger against the widow’s throat. He warns, “Drop the wand, or the wench dies.”
Per responds with a single word: mernans. With another wave of the wand, the woman’s heart stops.
Next, Efnysien drops the woman’s limp body onto the floor, grabs the orphan, holds his blade against the boy’s throat, and says, “Drop the wand, or the brat dies.”
Per shoots another bolt from his wand and says, “Kronek—”
In a louder voice, Efnysien shouts, “Gweder Mires!”
The boy turns into a mirror. The spell bounces back and turns Per into a toad. Efnysien races to catch up with the fleeing amphibian. He catches it. After a brief struggle, he dissects it with his dagger.
Efnysien proclaims, “Hear ye, hear ye, hear me all! I am your new lord. I will rule over all the land from the depths of the Iwerdhon Sea to the peaks of the Scos Highlands. All will worship me from the proudest dragon to the lowliest stable boy. May it be so for all your days, until the sun burns up your world and the sky lies black forever. Long live the old gods. Now, cast that shamrock into the outer darkness where it belongs.”
A year and a day later
My life as a shamrock only lasts three days before a rabbit eats me and my spirit possesses its body. That same month, I become a dog when a hound eats me. At the end of winter, I am a wolf. As a wolf, I have many adventures that I will not recount. A year and a day after the death of Per, the only surviving dragon devours me. My chance has come.
In my new dragon body, I visit the grave of the leprechaun and his three-headed poodle. I bow my head in silence. Through the wind, I hear a ghostly whisper echo through the trees:
Sir Yowann killed your lord; what shame!
He’s still a man. He is no god.
Efnysien is not his name.
He lied to all. He is a fraud.
But even so, he is your lord.
He is your master, do not doubt.
Do not forget to keep your word.
Ignore your rage. Be not a lout.
I have already broken my promise to the leprechaun for saving my life, so I have no fear of breaking it again. No matter. This past year and a day, I have learned to put my own needs and desires first. I have learned to do whatever feels right without worrying about pleasing others or concerning myself with what a so-called dragon ought to do. Now is the time. Tonight, I will fly to the top of the tallest tower as Sir Yowann watches over his kingdom. For the first time in my life, I will betray my new master.
Be not mistaken. I will not challenge Sir Yowann to single combat out of loyalty to Per the Sorcerer. I will not fry him inside his armor and decapitate him with my claws in order to keep the promise I made to my deceased twin sister. I will not burn the castle down and slaughter the survivors because dragons are obligated to show no mercy. No, no, no. I will do this all because I want to.
Copyright © 2026 by Kevin McClung
