Sir George in Spain 2/5

Sir George was feeling depressed. He was still riding in search of adventure, looking for wrongs to right and dragons to slay, but everywhere he went, the story was the same. Tornak the Terrible had been there before him and persuaded the local dragon to eat coal instead of peasants. The peasants themselves didn't have a care in the world now that they no longer had to worry about dragons and they certainly didn't have any wrongs to right.

Sir George was quite worried that nobody seemed to want his services. No service meant no pay and he was having to sell some of the treasure he had won from the dragons he'd killed, just to keep himself and his horse alive. Of course, the horse still found something to moan about, although fortunately Sir George couldn't understand a word.

"It's all right for him. No more danger, so he can take off his armour and ride nice and comfortably is his everyday clothes. Who's still got to carry it all? And do I get a word of thanks? there's not even any excitement. I haven't heard "charge" for a month and all the fair maids just giggle and run away when they see him coming. Boring, I call it."

Sir George duly arrived at the next village on his travels and having arranged to stay at the local inn, was in the taproom asking his usual questions.

"No trouble round here Sir, but I do hear tell of a village way to the South where a ferocious dragon and a wicked witch still guard a great pile of treasure in the midst of a dark wood."

He could get no more detailed information, but as he rode southward during the following weeks, the rumours grew stronger until at last, he was given definite directions.

“About two days’ ride from here lies the village of Hetherside on the edge of the Boneswood. The great dragon Karg lives in the wood and no man who enters has ever been seen alive again. They do say that those whom the dragon does not slay are enslaved by a witch who lives in a castle near the dragon’s cave”

This was just what Sir George had been hoping for. A dragon to kill and freeing peasants, who had been wrongfully imprisoned by a wicked witch, were just the sort of tasks he liked.

Two days later he rode into a village and enquired from a passer-by if he was on the road to Hetherside.

“Why bless you, sir, this is Hetherside.”

Sir George looked round. There wasn’t a tree to be seen.
“Where then is the Boneswood, home of the great dragon Karg?”
“What’s left of the wood is about two miles down the road there,” said the villager, pointing in the right direction. “The woodcutters have been chopping away at the edge of that forest for years now and they’ve still not found a dragon, nor a witch neither.”

“Then what of those who enter the wood; do they not return?”

“Well now, sir, that bit of the story is true. The woodcutters only stay on the edge like, but occasionally one wanders in a little too far and is never seen again.”

Sir George got off his horse and started to put on his armour. “I will rid you of this dragon and release those who are enslaved by the wicked witch.”

He mounted his horse and with his shield on his left arm, drew his sword and trotted off towards the forest.

“I shall return,” he called over his shoulder.

“There’s always a first time,” muttered the peasant. I don’t know why he’s bothering; old Karg hasn’t harmed anyone since I was a boy, and that’s a fact. Leave well alone, I say.”