The Apprentice

Stories for Another Day

In the days when Dharab lived, he was known as the greatest dragon-slayer in all of the seven secluded kingdoms, yet he lived very quietly in a small house with no more than he needed. One night he was sitting by his fire, eating his bread and cheese, when out of the darkness there came a knock at his door.

A young man stood outside, his clothes flapping and his hair blown into his face by the stormy winds. “Are you the dragon-slayer, the great Dharab?” he asked.

“My name is Dharab,” Dharab answered. “Come inside to the warmth of the fire.”

The young man was thin, barely half-grown, but he was already tall. “My name is Delf,” he said. “I want to be your apprentice. I want you to teach me the art of dragon-slaying.”

Dharab said, “Mine is a humble trade, difficult and very dangerous.”

The young man persisted. “You are the greatest dragon-slayer ever known. I want to learn everything you have to teach,” he said, and he was determined.

Dharab had never had an apprentice, or even an assistant, and he was uncertain whether or not to take him on. But the young man was so keen and persistent that in the end Dharab agreed. He made a place in his home where Delf could sleep, and he shared his bread with him.

Then began months and years of training. At the beginning, Delf knew next to nothing about the use of the short sword or close fighting with dagger, and although he could throw a spear, his aim was woeful. Dharab patiently coached him and trained him, hour after hour, in the fields outside the town. They fought together with swords, and practised throwing spears hard and fast, at targets high and low, and near and far. In the evenings Delf learned how to clean his weapons and keep their edges sharp and true. When the weather forced them to stay inside, Dharab instructed him in the ways of dragons, how to find their weaknesses and overcome their strengths.

Dharab took Delf with him whenever he went to fight a dragon. Many times his task was made harder because he had to protect Delf as well as deal with the dragon, and more than once his life was endangered when Delf missed his throw or stepped in his way, but gradually the young apprentice learned his trade. His aim and his speed improved, and his hands no longer shook when he faced a fully-grown dragon with only his spear in his hand.

As time went by, Dharab began to be able to rely on him as a skilled assistant, until one day he clapped Delf on the shoulder and said, “You have learned well. You have all the skills to make you a great dragon-slayer. There is nothing more I can teach you.”

Delf smiled, deeply content.

Some weeks later, they were sent for, to kill a dragon in a distant, mountainous part of the kingdom. Now this dragon was old, and wily, steeped in every trick that a dragon knows.

Dharab instructed Delf, “Be on your guard. This dragon is old in the ways of dragons and cleverer than many that we have fought before.”

Delf looked around at the lonely place. Rubbish, bones and half-eaten carcasses lay everywhere. Even the rocks and the earth were burned black and dead.

The dragon, when it emerged from its lair, was the biggest Delf had ever seen. Although it was old, it had lost none of its strength or agility. It took all Dharab’s skill to defeat it, with Delf’s assistance. The battle was long and hard, and it was Delf who dealt the final blow, plunging his sword into the dragon’s heart. But as he drew his sword out, he happened to slash it across Dharab’s arm.

Dharab cried out and his sword fell from his hand. The cut was deep, and besides, the blood of dragons burns and poisons human flesh.

Instead of rushing to help him, Delf stood over Dharab and smiled. “So the legend of the great Dharab will end here,” he said.

“What are you talking about?” Dharab said. “Help me clean this wound before the poison takes hold.”

Delf said, “The poison will not trouble you for long. Your life has reached its end, here in this lonely place, far from any nosy villagers. When I go down to the village and tell them that the great Dharab was killed in his final battle, they will mourn and weep – and I will be the greatest dragon-slayer in all the seven kingdoms!”

“What?” Dharab said, his injured arm hanging useless at his side. “You would kill me, just for this?”

Delf said, “This is what I came for, all I ever wanted, to be known as the greatest. While you live, I know that can never be, but with you dead, there is no-one greater than I am.” He raised his sword, ready to bring it down on Dharab. But Dharab was not looking at him but past his shoulder, where he had seen the old dragon begin to stir.

“Look out!’ he yelled, for he recognised the dragon’s oldest trick, to take a blow to the heart and lie as if dead and then to turn on the dragon-slayer while his guard was down. Behind Delf’s unsuspecting back, the dragon reared to its full height, ready to attack. His sword-arm useless, and the poison seeping into his body making him dizzy and weak, Dharab did the only thing he could. He thrust Delf to one side and put his own body between Delf and the dragon.

Delf cried out, “No! What are you doing? I would have killed you, and yet you would save my life? Why are you doing this?”

Dharab had no words to explain. “You are like a son to me,” he said finally.

Delf wept. “Never, I will never be as great as you, living or dead,” he said. With a great cry he pushed Dharab aside and ran at the dragon. He drove his sword into its throat, even as the dragon’s claws stabbed into his heart.

Dharab looked at his friend who had died saving him, and he wept as if his heart would break. He collected his weapons and carried Delf’s body to the foot of the mountain, where he buried him with his own hands. And he and all the villagers for miles around mourned as if for the greatest dragon-slayer ever known.