Dragon Slayer Page #18

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GALEN:

These are your sharpest?

Simon plucks up one of the swords, carries it to the center

of the room. He lays a horseshoe on the anvil. He brings the

sword down -- whack! -- and cuts the horseshoe in half.

SIMON:

Even Tyrian carries one of these.

Galen hefts it dubiously.

GALEN:

It's sharp -- but it's not sharp

enough.

Valerian has been watching all this with growing concern.

VALERIAN:

Not sharp enough for what?

GALEN:

For what I'm going to do with it.

VALERIAN:

Nothing's that sharp.

Simon gnaws his lip. Reluctantly, he brings a long box from

the bottom of the cabinet. He opens it. Lying on a bed of

silk is an exquisite two-handed broadsword. The flat blade

gleams like a mirror. Galen reaches in and lifts it out.

SIMON:

The best I ever made.

Valerian is as awed as Galen.

VALERIAN:

It's beautiful.

Galen brings up a finger to test the edge. Simon grabs his

hand away.

SIMON:

Don't do that!

(he looks at Valerian)

Girl-child, when you were born I

knew I had to do something, so I set

about the task of fashioning an

extraordinary weapon: I had the skill

to make it --

(bleak pause)

-- but not the nerve to use it.

She looks at him with affection. Leaning forward, she plants

a kiss on his bald pate.

VALERIAN:

I'm thankful for that.

(to Galen)

No man should choose a senseless

death.

CUT TO:

STREAM - DAY

Galen, Valerian and Simon tramp through a glade to a mossy

bank. There a wide stream flows lazily under a canopy of

trees.

VALERIAN:

If it's me you're worried about,

don't. So my name has been entered,

what of it? There are hundreds of

girls. My name just won't be drawn.

I know it won't.

Galen walks out into the shallows and pushes the sword-tip

into the sandy bottom, angled so that the edge splits the

current.

GALEN:

Valerian, this isn't just for your

sake.

He walks back to shore. All three watch the sword to see

what will happen.

SWORD:

Big flat oak leaves are gliding along the current. Very

slowly, they go by the sword, some of them very close.

Finally, one of them floats against the leading edge of the

blade and without a ripple is cleft in two. Simon gives Galen

a significant look.

VALERIAN:

I don't care. It doesn't matter.

What you want to kill isn't flesh

and blood.

SIMON:

Oh, it'll bleed, all right.

VALERIAN:

How do you know? No one's so much as

even scratched it.

They look to Galen. The apprentice's face is full of doubt.

GALEN:

I'll need the amulet.

CUT TO:

KING'S CASTLE - NIGHT

Carrying torches to light their way, families -- some with

maiden daughters -- gather from all over the country in the

courtyard of the King's castle. Simon is there with Valerian,

and so is Galen, disguised in rough farm clothes and a wide-

brimmed hat. Like many others, he carries a stick topped

with a bleached skull -- to all appearances, just another

participant in this weird pagan ritual. A barrel decorated

with flames and dragon's wings sits on a raised dais in front

of the main entrance. Horsrik, the King's herald, supervises

preparations for the lottery. Armed guards appear carrying a

sealed chest. Horsrik breaks the seal and the guards pour

the contents -- hundreds of wooden tiles, each bearing the

name of a potential sacrifice -- into the barrel. Trumpets

blare and drums roll and the royal party strolls onstage:

the King, his daughter, courtiers and Tyrian. Valerian nudges

Galen.

VALERIAN:

(pointing)

Look at her. The Princess.

GALEN:

I know. We've met.

Valerian gives Galen a sharp look. Horsrik unrolls a

parchment.

HORSRIK:

(reading)

People of Urland: whereas the peace

of the kingdom has been disrupted by

the mischief of an interloper; and

whereas this interloper being fled;

now therefore, his majesty the King

hereby proclaims the sum of thirty

ducats to be paid to anyone producing

the miscreant Galen Bradwardyn, fraud

enchanter, to our satisfaction.

Galen pulls his hat low over his eyes. As the moment for the

drawing approaches, Valerian becomes more and more uneasy.

She pushes forward through the crowd until she's just below

the barrel. She eyes the people around her. Some of them

seem equally worried, others -- the better dressed and better

fed -- are smug and complacent. The King and his retinue are

serene. A chant goes up from the crowd:

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