The Spriggan Mirror

The uninjured man dove for Tharn’s neck, and the dragon turned with incredible speed, belching flame.

The man’s hair caught fire, but he dived under the gout of flame and stabbed at Tharn.

Tharn dodged, or tried to, but Sirinita heard the metal blade scrape sickeningly across those armored scales she had so often scratched herself on.

Then Tharn, neck fully extended and bent almost into a circle, took his attacker from behind and closed his jaws on the man’s neck.

Sirinita screamed – she didn’t know why, she just did.

The first man was still whimpering into his hands.

The second man didn’t scream, though; he just made a soft grunting noise, then sagged lifelessly across Tharn’s back. His hair was smoldering; a shower of red sparks danced down Tharn’s flank.

Sirinita turned and ran.

At first she wasn’t ru

A moment later she was hammering her fists on the door.

“Who is it?” someone called. “I’ve got a sword and a spear here.”

“Help!” Sirinita shrieked.

For a moment no one answered, but she heard muffled voices debating; then the door burst open and she fell inside.

“They attacked me,” she said. “And Tharn killed one of them, and… and… “

“Who attacked you?” a woman asked.

“Two men. Big men.”

“Who’s Tharn? Your father?” a man asked.

“My pet dragon.”

The man and the woman looked at one another.

“She’s crazy,” the man said.

“Close the door,” the woman answered.

“You don’t think I should try to help?”

“Do you hear anyone else screaming?”

The man listened; so did Sirinita.

“No,” the man said. “But I hear noises.”

“Let them take care of it themselves, then.”

“But…” The man hesitated, then asked, “Was anyone hurt?”

“The men who attacked me. Tharn hurt them both. I think he killed one.”

“But this Tharn was all right when you left?” the woman asked.

Sirinita nodded.

“Then leave well enough alone for now. We’ll go out in the morning and see what’s what. Or if this Tharn comes to the door and speaks fair – we’ve the girl to tell us if it’s the right one.”

The man took one reluctant final look out the door, then closed and barred it, while the woman soothed Sirinita and led her to a corner by the fire where she could lie down. The man found two blankets and a feather pillow, and Sirinita curled up, shivering, certain she would never sleep again.

She was startled to wake up to broad daylight.

“You told us the truth last night,” her hostess remarked.

Sirinita blinked sleep from her eyes.

“About your dragon, I mean. He’s curled up out front. At first my man was afraid to step past him, after what you’d said about his fighting those two men, but he looks harmless enough, so at last he ventured it.”

“I’m sorry he troubled you,” Sirinita said.

“No trouble,” she said.

“I have to get home,” Sirinita said, as she sat up.

“No hurry, is there?”

Sirinita hesitated. “It’s a long walk back to the city.”

“It is,” the woman admitted. “But isn’t that all the more reason to have breakfast first?”

Sirinita, who had had no supper the night before, did not argue with that; she ate a hearty meal of hot buttered cornbread, apples, and cider.

When she was done she tried to feed Tharn, but the dragon wasn’t hungry.

When the farmer showed her what he had found in the cornfield she saw why. Both her attackers were sprawled there – or at any rate, what was left of them. Tharn was still a very small dragon; he had left quite a bit.

She looked down at the dragon at her side; Tharn looked up at her and blinked. He stretched his wings and belched a small puff of flame.

“Come on,” Sirinita said. She waved a farewell to her hosts – she never had learned their names, though she thought they’d been mentioned – then started walking up her own shadow, heading westward toward Ethshar.

It was late afternoon when, footsore and frazzled, she reached Eastgate with Tharn still at her heel. She made her way down East Road to the city’s heart, then turned south into the residential district that had always been her home.

Her parents were waiting.

“When you weren’t home by midnight we were worried, so this morning we hired a witch,” her mother explained, after embraces and greetings had been exchanged. “She said you’d be home safe some time today, and here you are.” She looked past her daughter at the dragon. “And Tharn, too, I see.” She hesitated, then continued, “The witch said that Tharn saved your life last night. We really can’t keep him here, Siri, but we can find a home for him somewhere…”

“No,” Sirinita interrupted, hugging her mother close. “No, don’t do that.” She closed her eyes, and images of the man with the burned face screaming, the other man with his hair on fire and his neck broken, the two of them lying half-eaten between the rows of corn, appeared.

Tharn had been protecting her, and those men had meant to rape her and maybe kill her, but she knew those images would always be there.

Tharn was a dragon, and that was what dragons did.

“No, Mother,” she said, shuddering, tears leaking from the corners of her tightly-shut eyes. “Get a wizard and have him killed.”

Afterword

The Spriggan Mirror is the ninth novel in the Legends of Ethshar, while “Sirinita’s Dragon” is one of the seven shorter works in the series so far. When I began writing stories set in Ethshar I had intended each one to stand on its own, and most of them do, but I must admit that The Spriggan Mirror probably works better if you’ve already read With a Single Spell, The Spell of the Black Dagger, and maybe Ithanalin’s Restoration. I’m assured by those who have tried it that it makes sense even if you haven’t read any of its predecessors, but I suspect it makes more sense if you’re familiar with at least the first of those three.

In assembling the second editions of the first six Ethshar novels I tried to pair each of them with a short story that was somehow related to the novel – for example, the heroine of “Portrait of a Hero” is a member of a family that plays a significant role in The Blood of A Dragon, so those two were paired. In the present volume I didn’t really have a choice, since only one short story had not yet been reprinted, but by good fortune there are some co

Well, it’s something, anyway.

I do wish “Sirinita’s Dragon” didn’t have quite such a downbeat ending, though; it’s not a happy note to close on.

For the serious Ethshar fan, “Sirinita’s Dragon” may have confusing moments, since it doesn’t say which of the three Ethshars it’s set in, and there are references to Grandgate. Don’t let that fool you. Yes, the big famous Grandgate is in Ethshar of the Sands, but there’s a Grandgate in Ethshar of the Rocks, as well, where the old coast road enters the southern part of the city. It was originally intended to be the main entrance, but was quickly superseded by Eastgate, where a newer highway begins.

The Lady Nuvielle mentioned herein is indeed the same one who appeared in Ithanalin’s Restoration, but Lord Varrin has no co

“Sirinita’s Dragon” was originally written for an anthology called The Ultimate Dragon. This is its second publication.