This is my entry for week three of the August 2008 Brigit's Flame writing competition. The topic was "Canary in a Coal Mine." It's not as easy as you think. This story is even longer than my usual pieces, about 1600 words. It wanted to be longer, but I resisted. Here it is:

"Why did you bring that thing?"

"Everyone knows that dragonets are highly sensitive to magic auras." I stroked the tiny, scaly creature perched on my shoulder.

"Tell me again why we're doing this," George paused in the act of coiling a length of rope. "I mean, what benefit is there for us in breaking into an empty house. You don’t really think the sword is there, do you?"

"He doesn't dare carry it with him," I replied. "He must have hidden it in a safe place until he can find someone a way to wield it. What better place to hide it than his own estate? Pip will find the sword for us. We'll be in and out before you know it."

George is a good friend, but he's not always the brightest candle in the box. Didn't he realize that if we recovered the king's sword, we would be set for life? No more starving through the winter, no more selling our services to the highest bidder. If we brought Dragonslayer back to the king, the reward would be enough so we could live in comfort for the rest of our lives.

Dragonslayer, the sword of the King of Rhodanthium had hung on the wall over the king's throne in the great hall for over a century. Only the true king could wield it. For as long as I can remember, the sword has accepted no master, not even the king himself. From the time that King Andrew took the throne from his grandfather, King Stefan, the sword had refused him. Now the sword was gone.

Rumors abounded that the sword was with the true heir to the throne. Princess Ana, the King's sister had disappeared shortly after he took the throne. Nobody knew where she went but the consensus was that she had been murdered by her own brother. That he had killed her to prevent any offspring of hers from making a claim to the throne. Even so, some insisted that she had run away and given birth to a child who would one day appear to claim his birthright.

Word on the street was that the Duke of Droflim had stolen it. It was common knowledge that the Duke craved the throne. Perhaps he thought that possession of the sword would convince the army to follow him instead of the king even though he was further from the throne than any of Rhodanthium's nobles. What possible use the sword would be to him was beyond me. He could wear it all he wanted to but as soon as he drew it from the scabbard, it would become so heavy that he would drop it immediately. If it had accepted him, the whole world would know about it. If it hadn't, then why had he kept it?

George and I were down on our luck. What small amount of coin we had in our possession had run out. The bread was moldy and the rent on our small room would be due in a mere three days. Pip, my tiny dragonet, would have no trouble feeding himself. He could live off the land quite comfortably. He even tried to bring food for us, dragonets are quite aware of the needs of their owners, but the one time he brought me "dinner" I learned to think about other things when he was around. I'm not quite ready to eat rat.

It didn't take much argument to get George to come along with me. He usually follows my lead. He may not be a genius, but he knows enough to know my ideas are much better than his. We waited until it was nearly dark and then into the grounds of the Duke's estate.

The last light of the dying day stained the western sky a deep maroon. In the East the sky was black and clear. The first stars twinkled madly. The carriage yard was empty save for the occasional blink of a firefly and the sleepy twittering of the birds settling down for the night. Beyond the gathering shadows the house was dark. George and I sprinted across the yard and approached the back door as quietly as two mice. The only sound was the rustling noise caused by Pip's wings as he adjusted his perch on my shoulder.

Taking out his tools, George swiftly picked the lock on the door and eased it open. We listened carefully but there was no sound from within. He stepped through the open door, gesturing over his shoulder for me to follow. Once we were both inside with the door closed firmly behind us, he whispered, "Now what?"

"Watch," I replied. I put up my hand and Pip jumped onto it, making a soft trilling noise as he did so. "You know what we are looking for?"

The dragonet nodded his head.

"Then show us where it is," I said to him as I simultaneously raised my hand over my head so that he could comfortably take off. He flapped his wings and took to the air. It didn't take him long either. He circled the room a single time and then flew up the chimney.

"Come back, Pip," I called. "We can't go that way."

I had to call him several times before he dropped down onto the cold hearth. He shook his wings to clear the ashes from them and then sneezed, emitting a tiny flame, shook his head and took off again, this time leaving the room through the doorway.

George and I followed Pip through the great hall and up the wide stairs to the second floor where we followed him down the hall to the Duke's private chamber. The walls and windows were draped with thick tapestries, now coated with a thick layer of dust and spider lace. The broad bed was heaped with pillows and soft comforters. George opened the shutters of his lantern wide so that we could see it all clearly. The rich reds, blues, and greens of the wall hangings, undaunted by their coating of grime, seemed nearly alive in the flickering light.

Pip alighted on the bed. Could it be that simple, I thought?

"Look under the bed," I ordered. George looked at me but didn't do anything until I said, "Come on, George, I'm too big to fit under there. Look and see if the sword is there."

While he got down on his knees and lifted the edge of the comforter, I looked around for anything else that we might sell for a few coins. There wasn't much. Lots of valuable things were in the room but they were either way to large, like the tapestries or too obviously belonged to the Duke, like the large seal that lay on the desk in the corner of the room.

"Well, what do you know," said George. He backed out from under the bed, completely covered in dust, holding the Dragonslayer's scabbard. He brushed away the dust and started to pull the blade from its sheath.

"No," I cried. "Don't be stupid. If you pull the sword it will be too heavy to hold. You'll probably cut off a toe or something."

"It doesn't look too special," he said. "Are you sure this is the right one?"

"Of course I am. I saw it every day when I was growing up." I walked over to the bed and held out my hand. "Come on, Pip," I said softly. Pip opened one eye and trilling softly jumped to my hand and then walked up my arm to perch on my shoulder.

Sometimes life is good. You make a plan and it works just as you expected it to do. This wasn't one of those times. As we descended the staircase into the great hall, we heard the sound of at least a dozen horses thundering up into the courtyard outside the front door.

George froze. He looked at me, one eyebrow raised as if to say, now what? I gestured towards the kitchen. George shuttered the lamp until only the dimmest light shone to light our way across the room.

We had nearly reached the doorway into the kitchen when the huge double doors crashed open and about a dozen soldiers came into the room carrying a battering ram. "Stop right there," cried the captain. He drew his sword and another dozen soldiers entered through the now-opened doors with swords drawn.

This is the end, I thought. They're going to skewer us on their swords and take Dragonslayer back to the king themselves.

George had other ideas. "Is this what you are looking for?" He raised Dragonslayer in its scabbard.

"Hand it over," said the captain. "It will be much worse for you if you don't."

Slowly George pulled the sword from its sheath. As he did so, Pip took flight, trilling happily and flying around the room near the ceiling before settling on my shoulder again. To the amazement of the observers, me included, George lifted the sword over his head before placing it back into the sheath.

As one, the soldiers bowed low before George. "How did you know that the sword would accept you?" I have known George all my life and it never occurred to me that he was any more than the wanderer and sometime thief that I had met at the Purple Dragon Inn back when we were both teenagers.

"I didn't." He smiled and patted the pommel of the sword. "I knew we couldn't get away, so I was about to give them the sword. Then I heard this voice in my head saying, 'Pull me and show them who you really are.'

"So I did," he finished with a huge grin on his face.