Sir George in Spain 3/5

The horse was having much the same thoughts. "Just looking for trouble as usual, and guess who has to do all the hard work. Gee up and let's enter a wood that no-one has ever returned from, to find a dragon that no-one has seen and rescue all the people caught by a witch who'll probably turn us into toads if she catches us. I think I'd rather be bored!"

As they approached the forest, the ground started to rise. Sir George slowed his horse down to a walking pace and gripping his sword more tightly, looked carefully about him as they started up the hill. At first, the trees had been well thinned out by the woodsmen, but as they rode further, the trees and undergrowth became more and more dense, until at last he dismounted and walked in front in case of attack by Karg, his well-trained horse following behind him.

The well-trained horse was still muttering away to himself. "It's all right for him, he can see where he's going and he's got his nicely sharpened sword ready for anything. Suppose Karg springs out on us from behind. Kicking a dragon isn’t going to do much good and guess who gets a warning of attack."

Then, as they came to a fork in the path, the horse suddenly stopped, jerking the reins from Sir George's hand. Sir George looked round. The horse's head was lowered nearly to the ground and pointed down the left-hand path. Sir George knew that his horse had smelt the dragon and walked along the path very carefully indeed. Together, they rounded a bend and there in front of them was the entrance to a typical dragon's cave.

"Come forth, Karg, and meet thy doom," called Sir George in his fiercest voice.

He was answered by a quavering mumble from the cave. "Please go away, I don't feel well."

Well, if Karg wasn't coming out to fight, then Sir George knew he had to go in after him. Being a professional dragon slayer, he was prepared. Striking flint and steel, he lit a torch, which he took from a saddlebag, then sword in hand, he moved cautiously into the cave.

Karg was lying on the cave floor. "Do put that torch out," he mumbled, "I can't stand the light and my head aches."

Sir George looked at Karg with a professional eye. The dragon certainly didn't look well. His legs and wings sprawled on the floor and he was a rather unhealthy grey colour. Both eyes were firmly shut and he was hardly breathing. By now, Sir George had become used to the poor light in the cave and Karg was obviously no threat, so he extinguished the torch.

Karg opened one eye and yawned. "Fanks," he mumbled. "Go on, have a good laugh, no teef, no peasants in monfs, no fire. Just take what you want and go away, I'm tired."

Then he gave a long, shuddering sigh and his head rolled to one side. Sir George didn't need to look again; he had seen plenty of dead dragons in his career and this one had just died of old age. He picked up the pitifully small heap of treasure that Karg had spent his life collecting. Two or three gold rings, a brooch and a pearl necklace were the only things of any value. Sir George walked back to his horse.

"Karg is dead," he said, "let us go forward to seek out the wicked witch and free the enslaved peasants."