Dragon skin – A fantasy tale from the land of Amarant

There is no other way to describe it – it was a sensation! Ever since the daughter of the richest landowner in Amarant reached marriageable age, the population of the capital has practically doubled. Where you would once have seen only sedate citizens, hurried servants and business-minded farmers on market days, you would now see suitors eager to marry jostling each other in the streets – not out of a desire to fight, but simply because there was not enough room for them all.

Amarant was a sedate little country that went about its business quietly, as did its small capital city, Sheaffertown. Everyone was content with themselves and the world. Fate had blessed the citizens by allowing them to be born Amaranter. That was the official name, not 'Amarantans', as the neighbouring countries liked to call them. The servants were reasonably content, too, and even the beggars and travelling jugglers had no reason to complain. When citizens are well off, they are willing to let something fall from their table, figuratively speaking, of course.

In any case, the noble Miss Rosalia behaved in an unexpected and unprecedented manner. Her family was extremely wealthy, to the point that the citizens of Sheaffertown found it almost indecent. Old Crumbholder – that was the name of the clan – had a good head for business and an equally good feel for the land. He was also thrifty. However, despite his business acumen, he had one weakness: his only daughter, Rosalia. Her mother died early, leaving nothing to stand in the way of her excessive pampering, and Master Crumbholder practised this art so diligently that even the household servants shook their heads.

Rosalia hardly ever expressed a wish, so she got whatever she wanted. Much to the chagrin of her aunts and uncles, however, Rosalia, who was very pretty from an early age, did not ask for beautiful clothes, fancy toys or special treats – things that young girls from wealthy families usually appreciate. Nobody could quite believe it, but Miss Rosalia insisted on books. Her father, who never read anything except his accounts and business records, hired a tutor and instructed him to find everything worth reading for the child.

Thus, an impressive library was established in the Crumbholder household, containing more books than the average Sheaffertowner would see in a lifetime. There must have been well over fifty of them, as the art of printing was rather rudimentary in Amarant, despite having been known for a long time. The old man spent vast sums of money on books from abroad, which made him seem crazy to his neighbours. Of course, nobody said so out loud – after all, you don't mess with the richest man in the area. Moreover, the library was open to any interested citizen for three hours on Mondays and Thursdays. Not many visitors came, but some did. Most of them came out of pure curiosity. Only one or two Amaranter actually read. They sat on the generously donated chairs and buried themselves in the books until closing time.

As the young scholar – as Miss Rosalia called herself – grew up, she became exceptionally pretty, despite all the prophecies of doom. This was despite spending many hours a day reading. She also had a peaceful and friendly nature, which was hard to believe given that she was considered a 'shamelessly spoilt brat' by some.

In any case, on her seventeenth birthday, Rosalia announced that she would only marry a man who could find his way to her balcony. This was harder than it sounded, as the fifteen-metre-long driveway to the house had been covered with a thick layer of glowing coal – with the approval of Old Crumbholder – ever since the public announcement that a husband was being sought. Cartloads of coal were delivered daily to maintain this fiery path, for which many servants were required. This was made more difficult by the fact that all goods traffic now had to be routed around it.

New suitors for Rosalia's hand appeared at the estate gate every day. – 'Only he who treads carefully and slowly over the coals and pays his respects to me when I stand on my balcony shall become my husband.' Those were the young lady's words, and she would not deviate from them. She dismissed objections such as 'That's impossible' with a wave of her hand. 'You just need boots made of dragon leather', she said casually, refusing to discuss the matter further.

'Dragon leather boots' was the cue. As everyone knew, dragon skin could withstand any heat and protect against its effects. However, in civilised Amarant, there were no more dragons. Perhaps there were still a few in the neighbouring country, where they hadn't advanced as much. Some applicants gave up, casting a regretful glance at Rosalia and a longer, more wistful one at the vineyards of Old Crumbholder before returning home. The most impetuous and inexperienced applicants stormed the town's shops and stocked up on everything they thought they would need for hunting dragons.

Practically overnight, a new profession was born. Out of nowhere, many so-called 'dragon experts' appeared, offering their services to suitors who wanted to cross the border and reach the fire-breathers' homes. For a good fee, of course. As the toll gates of Amarant were always open, magic users also flocked to the capital to sell spells to protect against fire and claw attacks, and their amulets for protection against burns proved to be a big seller.

Young men flocked to the city to catch a glimpse of Rosalia and inquire about the family's finances, while adventurously equipped suitors left Sheaffertown behind to hunt dragons. This was, in everyone's opinion, the first step towards obtaining dragon leather boots.

However, one person first let out a deep sigh – and then did nothing. Young Aurelius Coppersheet, an underpaid accountant working for Rosalia's father, continued to do what he had been doing for the past few months: stare up at the balcony of the young lady he considered the most charming in the world. To him, Rosalia was the ideal woman: intelligent, well-read and beautiful. Aurelius loved books – just like his beloved. But he couldn't afford them, which is why he went to the Crumbholder mansion twice a week to indulge his passion. He did this not only for the books, but also because he believed it brought him closer to Rosalia.

Ever since he first saw her floating through the draughty office in search of her father, he had been completely lost in deep – albeit hopeless – love. Of course, she had never noticed him – how could she have taken any notice of the shy, thin young clerk hunched over the back desk?

After sighing deeply for the thousandth time, Aurelius Coppersheet decided that life was no longer worth living without Rosalia. He thought he might as well join the self-appointed dragon hunters and seek death in the fiery breath of such a creature. However, first he wanted to visit his beloved library one last time, simply to say goodbye to Rosalia in his own way.

So, on that Thursday, Aurelius entered the mansion through the servants' entrance – everyone used it to avoid the scorching driveway – and made his way to the library. There, he looked wistfully at the books that had brightened so many hours of his life. With a trembling index finger, he ran his hand along the shelves, saying goodbye to old friends. Suddenly, the lovesick accountant paused. Squinting – Aurelius was somewhat short-sighted – he pulled out a slim volume and opened it.

'ABOUT DRAGONS' was written on the cover in old-fashioned, ornate letters. Aurelius immersed himself in the book, reading like a man possessed. When the public viewing time came to an end, the otherwise honourable accountant did something he would never have dared to do before – something contrary to his nature. He tucked the book under his doublet and took it home. This reckless act sprang from his love for Rosalia, so perhaps we shouldn't blame him too much for it.

The next morning, Aurelius Coppersheet was a changed man. Exhausted but determined, the young man scraped together his savings and bought a fairly large piece of leather from his neighbour, who was a saddler. The goatskin was cheap as it was not the best quality and somewhat stained. He tied up his knapsack, left the town, and followed the last group of brave dragon slayers and their leaders at a distance. The lover did not have much luggage, which hardly mattered as he could not to feel hunger. He was concerned about the poor state of his worn-out shoes, but he was willing to make any sacrifice for the sake of love.

No sooner had the hunting party crossed the border than the first suitors for Miss Rosalia's hand returned along the same path. Most were pale, hollow-cheeked and taciturn, but some had burns or singed hair. One group was mourning the loss of their leader, who, according to the survivors, had been eaten by a dragon for breakfast. Many of those who had set out had to think of the magnificent fields and vineyards in Amarant to keep going. However, not all of them considered the prospect of such riches to be sufficient compensation for being eaten by a dragon. Thus, the group quickly dwindled, although a few undaunted souls – or those burdened by excessive debts – bravely set off for the mountains.

Our courageous lover, the honourable Aurelius Coppersheet, followed the group at an ever-decreasing distance. The mountain guide and self-proclaimed dragon expert requested complete silence in case one of the monsters appeared, as they wanted the element of surprise. The men at the front brandished the tools they had brought with them: spears, nets and even talismans against fire breath. As previously mentioned, the trade in such items had boomed since Rosalia's announcement.

The determined group now made their way fairly quietly deeper and deeper into the chosen gorge. Aurelius was barely ten horse lengths behind the group when the leader put a finger to his lips. Instantly, the dragon hunters took up their positions – flattening themselves against the rocky walls of the gorge as much as possible. The lovesick accountant, however, hurried to catch up.

Under the astonished gaze of the other suitors, he quietly and nimbly took the goatskin from his knapsack and placed it across the narrow path. With a calmness that surprised even himself, but completely unsettled the onlookers, he weighed down the edge of the leather with stones. Then, just as quietly, he began to retreat, moving a good hundred feet back towards the exit of the gorge. While the men were still wondering about the foolish fellow, the ground suddenly shook and a strange smell filled the air.

The tremor grew stronger with every second, as did the acrid smell. Some of the men couldn't bear it any longer, braking ranks and running backwards in long strides to escape whatever was approaching. The narrow gorge then turned into a madhouse as a huge lizard's head emerged from the path, prompting the men to roar and scatter. A few made half-hearted attempts to scare the dragon away by roaring and waving their spears, but they didn't last long before running away too.

The dragon's head swung from one rock face to the other, sniffing, before it rose, followed by its long neck and large body. The dragon did not look angry; its wheel-sized eyes were half-closed as though it had just woken up. This may well have been the case, as its powerful jaws suddenly opened to reveal an equally powerful yawn, accompanied by a long jet of flame. The tongue of fire snaked almost all the way along the path before dying out, and the dragon's mouth closed again. Then the dragon grunted and slowly withdrew from the gorge, stomping backwards at a leisurely pace.

After a period of silence, a slight man appeared on the path. Aurelius Coppersheet had not fled with the others. He had kept hidden and waited for his moment. He strode purposefully over to the stretched goatskin on the path and examined it. Highly satisfied, he picked up the leather, rolled it up and carefully tucked it into his bundle. Then, without looking back, he hurried off in the direction of Amarant.

The next day, our accountant found himself back at the red-hot driveway of the Crumbholder house. The crowd of onlookers had attracted even gingerbread sellers and sausage cooks, who had been doing a roaring trade for days. There was a strange smell, probably of burnt shoe soles and perhaps even singed skin. As she had done every day since making her announcement, the lovely Rosalia stood on her pretty balcony and watched the proceedings with bored indifference.

Several suitors had already singed their soles that morning and had to leave the driveway without getting close to the beauty. The inhabitants of Amarant enjoyed this daily folk festival and drank the wine that Old Crumbholder sold from stalls that had been quickly erected. After all, he was known for his business acumen.

However, this morning was different from the others that had preceded it. It began when the pale clerk stepped to the edge of the driveway and waved to Rosalia. Despite being otherwise unremarkable, this man displayed a noticeable determination that did not seem pretentious, and she looked up.

Then he sat down and slipped some roughly assembled overshoes onto his boots. They resembled the kind of overshoes made for horses' hooves: round and tied together with string around the edges. Here and there, laughter rang out and some boys whistled. But Aurelius was not deterred. After checking the fit of his makeshift overshoes one last time, he took a deep breath and stepped onto the glowing coals for the first time.

The crowd held its breath too – not the slightest cloud of smoke was visible. Aurelius slowly walked up the driveway, gazing at his beloved. His feet felt as cool as if he were walking in a stream. Step by step, he continued until he reached the balcony.

Rosalia looked down at the young man with wide, astonished eyes as he bowed politely. He stood on the red-hot coals as though in a forest clearing, smiling up at her. She smiled back, noticing his beautiful grey eyes – dreamy yet strong. She graciously threw a flower down to him, but it burned up immediately. The enraptured Aurelius was completely absorbed in the sight of the beautiful woman that he did not even notice the falling flower. Rosalia did not hold it against him, though, as she recognised his deep affection.

The wedding, which took place a month later, was the talk of Amarant and the surrounding area for years afterwards – the Old Crumbholder had organised it so magnificently. When the first grandchild was born a year later, the old man was overwhelmed with joy. The boy was given the unusual name Kasparius, after Kasparius Montegrinus Trumpeter. The only surviving copy his book, 'ABOUT DRAGONS', was on display in a showcase in the Crumbholder library.

Above it, on the wall hung a cloth that Mrs Rosalia had lovingly embroidered with an excerpt from Trumpeter's book: 'Leather, which otherwise has no special properties, becomes an excellent protection against heat and even open flames when it comes into brief contact with the fire of a dragon. Animal skin treated in this way was formerly known in folk tradition as 'dragon leather'.'

© 'Dragon skin: A fantasy tale from the land of Amarant. About the good fortune of a well-read groom': A fantasy story by Ilona E. Schwartz, (translated by Izabel Comati), 08/2025. The illustration shows the sea monster Ketos in Piero di Cosimo's 1513 painting 'Perseus Frees Andromeda', CC0 (Public Domain Licence).