Dragon Slayer Page #13

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GALEN:

(sobering up)

What sort of gratitude? A knife in

the belly? An arrow in the back?

Tyrian's smile freezes on his face. He steps in front of

Galen, towering over him.

TYRIAN:

My young friend, I'd as soon dispatch

you as I did the others, and for the

same reason. But his Majesty would

like a cozy chat, and commands

otherwise.

VALERIAN:

Don't go, Galen. Cast a spell and

turn them into toads. It should be

easy; that's what they are.

Tyrian regards her coolly, taking in her change of costume

and its meaning.

TYRIAN:

Well, well:
still plenty of cheek

under those skirts, it seems.

Having buried the dragon under a mountain, Galen decides

he's not worried about an appearance at court. He smiles at

Valerian.

GALEN:

Don't worry. I'll be back.

CUT TO:

RIDERS:

Three horses gallop through the moors and fens of central

Urland. Galen is tucked up behind Tyrian. On the distant

horizon, the battlements of the King's castle glow in the

slanting light of a new day.

CUT TO:

THRONE ROOM - DAY

Within the castle is a great hall with shafts of daylight

poking in through narrow windows set high in the walls. In

the middle of the room stands a carved oak throne. There is

Casiodorus Rex, King of Urland, a bearded man in his fifties,

as spare and somber as the room in which he sits. He is

flanked by a few servants, assorted courtiers and Tyrian.

Standing before them all is Galen, looking unhappy. He pours

a pitcher full of water into a small glazed goblet.

GALEN:

One of the best things about the

water here in Urland is that there's

so much of it -- look at that!

Water continues to pour into the goblet without overflowing.

Galen takes a sip.

GALEN:

Mmm. Good. But not cold enough.

Perhaps I could borrow a scarf from

his Majesty.

The King makes no sign. Galen approaches stiffly, takes a

scarf and retreats.

GALEN:

I cover the goblet, so... remove,

so... and behold: winter in a mug!

And he's done it: he turns the goblet over and a small chunk

of ice hits the floor. The royal reaction is equally frosty.

Galen is bombing, and he knows it.

GALEN:

All right. How many of you have ever

seen a table fly?

He mutters an incantation. In the audience, Tyrian notes

that Galen has his hand wrapped around the amulet. There is

a loud clatter as the heavy oak table before the throne begins

to jitter and buck. As the wine spills and plates go flying,

the King wearily raises a hand.

KING:

Enough! That's fine.

GALEN:

Wait, it'll rise now.

KING:

Don't bother. Not necessary.

The table cracks in half and dumps a mess of fruit and

crockery at the onlookers' feet.

KING:

Tell me:
the landslide -- it was

accomplished this same way?

GALEN:

Yes.

KING:

I see. And having rendered such unique

service to our kingdom, what would

you claim as a reward?

GALEN:

Please -- no payment. I have always

found magical practice to be its own

reward. I seek only some yet greater

challenge.

This handsome sentiment doesn't go over any better than his

tricks.

KING:

Did you ever hear of King Gaiseric?

Of course not, you weren't even born.

He was my brother, a great King and

a valiant man-at-arms. When he

ascended to the throne, the dragon

was unbridled. No one knew where it

might strike next. So he brought

forth his broadsword and his spear,

assembled a company of his best

fighters and went out to do battle.

(pause)

He was never seen again. But his

attack provoked the most terrible

reprisals:
whole villages incinerated,

entire crops burned. Death, famine,

horrible.

The King grimaces as the memories come flooding back.

KING:

(quietly)

How did you arrogate to yourself the

role of savior?

GALEN:

I was invited.

KING:

Not by me. Did you ever consider the

consequences of failure?

GALEN:

What failure? What's the matter with

you people? You want the dragon back?

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