The Dragon’s Treasure
An ex-knight, getting on in years, makes a dangerous annual pilgrimage.
“Oh,” Mariela said softly when she rolled over in bed, and saw Gerta on her feet. Standing in the centre of their small bedroom, Gerta had already pulled her chain on over her head, and was now in the process of fastening the studded plate of her jerkin around her waist, pulling the belt taut to settle it properly on her body. “Is it that time of the year already?”
“The daffodils are in bloom,” Gerta said, picking up her bracers and beginning to fasten them onto her arms.
In her youth, in service to the city, she had worn this armour every day, as a guard, and as a knight protector, but she was long-retired from such business now. Her limbs were too tired and too old to stand the daily march about the castles’ walls, let alone anything else.
But today —
Today, she would wear her armour, as she did every spring.
“You needn’t go yourself,” Mariela said in a quiet voice, and Gerta turned to look at her wife where she curled comfortably beneath the sheets, looking up at Gerta with her beautiful eyes half-lidded still with sleep. Mariela had never cared for early mornings, and Gerta stepped forward on silent feet, gently cupping Mariela’s cheek, and Mariela leaned…
