Thorn was satisfied. After that fateful day in the mountains, she’d felt liberated. For all her adult life, she’d been struggling with acceptance. It was her grail, that long-sought-after goblet of sustenance that could fuel her life. No one had extended her the privilege of acceptance; even her parents had been disappointed that she hadn’t focused more on being an eligible lady who would command a healthy dowry. Her parents weren’t rich and they had been hoping that someone else would take on her upkeep once she’d reached maturity. Unfortunately, she’d been set on becoming a knight and her parents had eventually agreed to pay for her training. After all, it was her father who had inspired her with all his stories of youthful adventures.

She’d never been knighted.

No self-respecting landed knight or lord could withstand the reputational damage of even accepting her as a melee soldier, let alone affording her a title. But now things were different. She was knighted, there was no debate about that, but what she’d learned in the year since being appointed the first Dragon Warrior was that the title was next to useless without gleaming gold to reinforce it. Of that, the dragon had made sure there was no shortage.

The first thing she’d done was purchase a castle, which, surprisingly, proved to be an easy undertaking. There were plenty of lords with swathes of land that held little strategic advantage. One of those lords had been only too happy to sell her a castle and the surrounding land overlooking the mountain where the dragon lived. He’d built the thing with the devious notion of waiting for some fool knight to defeat the dragon, after which he would be strategically placed to take advantage of mining operations. He was only too glad to sell it to this gullible woman pretending to be a knight.

Her next step was to garrison the castle with a capable militia. Again, this proved easier than expected. As soon as it was known that her gold was solid, there was no shortage of volunteers; her main challenge was picking out the useful ones. She’d initially chosen her militia based on traditional knightly appearances. She thought she knew what a good knight was: courtly manners, well-kept armour, martial discipline and everything else the storybooks talked about. She was disabused of this notion when an unpleasant, squat fellow with mismatched armour and a notched sword beat up one of her previously selected, fetching, shiny knights using a bag of onions and a leather sock. It wasn’t even over a worthy cause. The squat fellow had merely taken umbrage at a snort he’d heard when presenting himself.

Since then, she’d decided that this uncouth mercenary would be her second and would take charge of recruitment. His name was Isaac and, as far as knightly training and courtly manners went, he was largely useless. But in a scrap, she thought he could give even her a fair challenge.

All in all, things had been looking up. She had a well-provisioned castle, a benefactor who didn’t care in the slightest how much gold was being spent, and she was doing exactly as she’d been instructed: putting together a dragon-funded army that would build an empire, preferably with her leading it on the dragon’s behalf.

Today was an auspicious day. It was time for her first battle, and she’d sent a terrified runner to the dragon’s cave to invite him down to watch. Since he rarely left his cave except when he was hungry, she didn’t expect him to appear.

She’d now built a small army of five hundred soldiers: two hundred pikemen, two hundred archers and one hundred mounted cavalry. They were armed with well-made weapons, many of which were dragon-forged. They faced an equally sized force belonging to the neighbouring Baron Van Outen, who had decided he didn’t like the idea of an army, no matter how small, being stationed so closely.

Baron Van Outen was a non-typical lord. He didn’t sneer at the thought of a woman like Thorn leading an army; he had even been one of the few who had briefly entertained the notion of knighting her when she’d presented herself to serve him. In fact, he had endeared himself to Thorn by taking her seriously and coming to fight her rather than dismissing her outright.

Thorn stood on the ramparts of her small castle. Although well-built, the castle was designed with dual functions in mind: defence and mining operations. Thorn suspected the previous owner had been far more enamoured with the mining side because the castle’s defences were minimal. The moat protected only the entrance, on the assumption that the castle backing onto the mountain would deter attackers from scaling it without being caught and stopped. Thorn figured she could do far worse, though she still wished she had the time and means to construct elaborate traps. She eyed a ridge higher up the mountain where, in future, she might store large tree logs to be released on enemies attempting to climb. She glanced at her moat, which lacked any dangerous animals that could act as deterrents. She sighed, reminding herself that this was a good day.

This would be the day she proved to the world that she didn’t need their acceptance and that her name would soon be sung across the land.

From her position on the ramparts, she watched the approaching force. Mounted knights led the line, far fewer than those under her own banners, who were awaiting the signal to ride from behind a hidden crevice several miles away. She thought she could make out Baron Van Outen himself. Even from this distance, he looked like a bear of a man compared to the riders beside him, suitably mounted on an enormous horse whose breed she couldn’t quite discern.

Archers lined the ramparts, waiting nervously for the coming battle. No one shared her good mood, though hers only improved as the enemy drew closer. They were nowhere near as well-equipped as her army. She nearly skipped with joy as she looked to her infantry, waiting just outside the moat to meet the oncoming force. She knew it would be safer to keep all her soldiers behind the walls and fight under siege, but that wouldn’t convince others that she was not to be trifled with.

She could wait no longer. Excitedly, she raised a horn to her mouth and blew a single sonorous note, signalling her infantry to march forward. The enemy responded, their mounted soldiers breaking into a steady trot. Her infantry advanced only far enough to draw the enemy in; she didn’t want them straying beyond the range of her archers.

A gasp was heard nearby. Thorn remained focused on the impending clash but turned at the commotion. There, upon a high ridge, sat the dragon, upright on its hind legs, back straight, arms crossed in an almost human pose. Its keen eyes sought her out before drifting back to the battlefield, its lips parting as it licked them slowly.

The sight unsettled her. She didn’t think the dragon was interested in the battle for any reason beyond empire-building, but the way it watched felt hungry.

She had no time to dwell on it. The crash of metal on metal and bodies colliding dragged her back to reality.

‘Archers! Begin your arrow storm!’ she shouted, hoping her voice sounded commanding.

Isaac, who had appointed himself her second for the battle, complemented her order with a stream of choice curses, questioning the archers’ parentage and making vulgar enquiries into their species. Thorn watched nervously. She was confident, but this was her first battle and, in war, anything could go wrong.

Her army performed well. They were better equipped, better trained, and the archers were doing their work. She raised the horn again and blew a longer note. Slowly, the thunder of mounted hooves rose and, within moments, her cavalry burst from hiding. Baron Van Outen’s forces visibly wilted at the sight and sound of this new threat. Their line bent, then broke, as one soldier threw down his sword and ran. That was all it took. The rest followed.

Thorn had won her first battle.

Elated, she looked back at the mountain. The dragon had fixed its gaze on her and was pointing a scaly claw in her direction. The gesture was eerie. It held the pose, then turned its head towards its line of sight and spat a short plume of fire. With that, it took several steps and launched itself into the air.

Disconcerted, Thorn instructed Isaac to keep the prisoners alive and bring all war booty back to the castle. She added that if the Baron himself could be captured alive, there would be a special reward. Then she turned away, preferring not to watch her army debase itself in rout and slaughter. She descended the ramparts and entered her private quarters, where, after the strain of planning and winning a battle, she promptly fell asleep.

Read part 1: A Thorn to Soothe a Dragons Throat