The Dragon and the Gnarly King Read online

  On this white surface, in the light of the replenished fire, there was a silver spoon for each of them, two silver mazers, a silver pitcher of wine and one of water, with Sir John's coat of arms incised in its surface. There was also a stoneware bowl apiece, filled with a hot stew made largely of the beef and broth they had been given when they left Penrith Castle, but flavored with herbs from what was apparently Dagget's personal luggage.

  Their main course was more of the same beef, which had been pounded to a certain amount of tenderness during the ride by being carried, wrapped in a clean cloth, between Dagget's saddle and horse-blanket. It was served up in strips, roasted to a palatable heat over one of the fires outside. The meal wound up with a sort of sweet, saffron-tasting bread pudding, also hot.

  "Hear me now," said Sir John at last, pushing his empty plate away and taking one more sip of wine. He set his cup down. "You have no objection to my having the command in keeping for this whole matter? Am I right?"

  "Entirely right," said Jim with real feeling. It had been strictly a courtesy question. Having anyone else but Chandos in command here would be ridiculous. But Jim appreciated being asked, nonetheless. "You've got more experience than I'll probably ever have."

  "Good," said Sir John. "Because as I see it, there will be little time for dispute over who gives orders if things fall out as I expect."

  He drank from his glass again, more deeply this time, and set it down with a certain amount of force.

  "As I see it," he said, "we have little choice."

  Jim watched him steadily. The shifting firelight played on the lines of the other man's face, making his eyes seem darker and deeper in his head. His face was remarkably calm, but not for that reason relaxed. The courtier had completely given place to the war-captain.

  "From what I could see of their camp," he went on, "they could be ready to ride tomorrow to do whatever mischief they came to do. We have little choice but to assault them immediately—they may be awaiting others to add to their number, and our waiting with them would only increase our disadvantage. Even if they are not waiting, they will be a tough enough nut to crack; if, as I suspect, some at least are fighting-men of experience. There would be no point in sending to Sir Bertram for additional men—we have no time to do so, and beyond that, I would not want any of those he has been using to guard my Lord Cumberland's properties."

  He paused, half-smiling at Jim.

  "You were about to ask me why?"

  "As a matter of fact," said Jim, "I wasn't going to ask. But I'd like to know."

  "I shall tell you," said Chandos. "I know, without needing to see them, that most of Sir Bertram's men have never drawn weapons except to fight naked serfs and tenants, miners, and such. I have no great fault to find with anyone who lacks experience with the weapons of war. Indeed, very often these will die valiantly, particularly if defending their own home, family, and Lord. Some, indeed, will be much quicker and more eager into battle than a man who has been through at least one before—no experienced common soldier goes readily into conflict when he does not know whether he will win or die."

  He paused, looking at Jim as if for a response. Jim nodded. This was something he could agree with.

  "With those of gentle blood—like ourselves—" Chandos went on, "of course, it is different. Still, when there is a real necessity for a common soldier to fight, he may often behave in quite praiseworthy fashion, fighting with everything he has, and all the experience he may have gained before that moment. So those with experience are best. It is these, therefore, with whom I have made up my troop. If there is no way to avoid being killed unless they kill, they will go out intending to be the victor. More than that, the skills they have built from their previous fights are valuable. Lastly, they will not turn and run unless the day is clearly lost."

  He paused, looking, Jim felt uncomfortably, at him.

  "Nor is this really true of the common sort, alone," he went on. "You, Sir James, may well have seen this yourself. There are, God knows and present company excepted—for we both know of each other's deeds—there are cowards and traitors among even those who call themselves gentlemen. Even King Arthur had such sitting at his Round Table—in the end, you will remember, it was Sir Percival who shamed them all by living as a knight indeed should, and for that God vouchsafed him a vision of the Holy Grail. But, I fear I wander from the subject."

  "Not at all, Sir John," said Jim. "We have the evening yet to talk."

  "Perhaps not," said Sir John. "It might be wise to find sleep early, against a rising before daybreak tomorrow. It is my belief we have no choice in what we shall do. We must strike their camp with all our force just at daybreak, before they are ready for battle, and take what advantage we can from surprise against their possibly greater numbers."

  "Can we get in position to do that, among all these trees and with loose branches and other things on the ground, without letting them know we're coming?" asked Jim. "Particularly since it'll still be dark under the trees—also, won't they have some people on watch?"

  "They will have watchers," said Chandos. "But I have men who are good at finding such in the dark, cutting their throats silently, and so keeping them from sounding the alarm. My men's work will not be fool-proof, of course. They may miss a watcher, or one slain may be able to call out before he dies, so that the camp will be alarmed. In fact, it is more likely than not that something will cause our surprise to be less than it should be. It is the way things almost always go in clashes of arms—you may plan all you want, but chance will upset your plans."

  "If that does happen," said Jim, "then, what do we do?"

  "Merely what we have set out to do in any case," said Chandos. "The alarm being given may well mean that those who are real warriors in the camp will at least be weaponed and on their feet when we come in—though not necessarily in armor or ahorseback. They are indeed not so likely, any of them, to be in armor unless they are overseeing the watchers. Though there are some who can successfully sleep in their armor—it is not impossible, and I would look at someone like your friend Brian as one who might do that. But in any case, whether the camp is alarmed or not, we must carry on and make the best use of whatever advantages surprise has given us after all."

  Jim nodded.

  "You're right, of course," he said. "There wouldn't be any other option."

  "I am overjoyed to hear it," said Chandos. He picked up his mazer and emptied its last wine down his throat. "Now, perhaps we should seek slumber before our early rising."

  "I should mention," said Jim, hastily, "I'm obliged by the magic rules under which I live to sleep on a special pallet on the floor—"

  "Of course," said Sir John. "I honor your obligation to duty. The table hardly seems worth disturbing, in any case."

  Once more he lifted his voice without bothering to turn his head toward the door.

  "Dagget!"

  Immediately there was the sound of the door opening, followed by the immediate answer.

  "Yes, Sir John?"

  "Branches for a mattress and some horse-blankets to make me a bed! I will sleep, as will Sir James, on the floor; and we will leave the table as it is for possible use in the morning."

  "Yes, Sir John." The door closed.

  Sir John, in keeping with the rest of his debonair appearance, did not snore as he slept. Jim, who had been accused of snoring on certain occasions, looked across the darkness at where the knight lay on his blankets above a pile of springy birch branches, with a certain amount of annoyance at not being so quick to fall asleep, himself.

  He continued to lie awake as the hours passed, the fire burned lower, and the room darkened. He found himself puzzling again over what Carolinus told him. In his time in this world, Jim felt, he had been unduly targeted by the Dark Powers. Could this be another of those occasions?

  As far as Jim understood, the Dark Powers seemed to be a sort of malignant force which, by taking a hand in human affairs, hoped to drive the race either into a conditio
n of stasis—in which no further progress of any kind could be made—or into a chaotic state of bloody anarchy and death.

  Sometimes they worked through unNatural creatures, such as the Ogre, the Harpies, and the Worm he had encountered at the Loathly Tower. Sometimes their tools were twisted human beings, like Malvinne, the rogue Magician. They had even tried to use Granfer, the oldest and biggest squid in all the seas. There was no telling what tools they might use…

  Finally, when it seemed the whole night must have gone by, still thinking about this as he lay on his pallet, Jim slipped into some much-wanted sleep.

  He was not sure just how the dream started, but he was very sure of the part he remembered afterward, in which he and Angie, hand in hand, were running down some sort of corridor, or narrow way, in which there was no place to take shelter; and a tornado was coming. Suddenly, the floor rocked beneath them, and the walls closed in, and fell. He and Angie found themselves being crushed under a killing weight of debris in total darkness.

  They could not move. They could not breathe. The last thing he remembered was Angie's hand, fingertips groping, reaching out and touching his; and their fingers twining together, just before what was left of life in them both was extinguished.

  He woke with a jerk, choking. The hut was full of smoke, thick with smoke. He had an overwhelming desire to cough, but the smoke had filled his lungs and he did not seem to have the air. He struggled to his feet, staggered blindly in the direction of where the door should be—groped along some wall until he found the door, and half-fell into the outside, continuing in a sort of staggering run for several paces before he stopped.

  He was suddenly aware that he had left the nightmare behind. He was outside in a pitch-dark forest, lit only by a small fire in the center of the clearing, at which Chandos was standing with one of his young knights. The two were in full armor, and six of the men-at-arms stood nearby. All of these were just now turning to look at Jim. The now-stiff breeze had a damp, near-to-morning smell.

  "Sir James!" said Chandos. "I might have known you'd rouse without needing to be wakened. Have you noticed how the wind has just changed?"

  Without waiting for Jim to answer, he turned back to the young knight, who Jim now saw was Sir William Blye.

  "You see, Sir William," said Chandos, "how a knight worthy of his peers does not need to be wakened from sleep on the morning in which there is to be an exercise at arms?"

  Sir William looked down at the ground. Chandos turned to Jim again. "But, Sir James!" he said. "You will catch a chill if you move around so lightly dressed. Come to the fire here, at least. And you, Dagget, take these men with you now."

  Sir William went off, too; and Jim, who had already intended to approach the fire, was on his way toward it. Of the areas of warmth available to him at the moment, one was the hut behind him, which the change in wind had filled with smoke. The other, this fire out here, was not totally satisfactory, either; but the fire had been expertly banked, and while it produced little more light than they needed, it radiated a heat he could get near without giving up breathing.

  Chapter Eleven

  In fact, the fire had too much promise. The leaping flames drew him like a moth, a promise of brightness and heat; but he had not been close to them for more than a few seconds before he began to think longingly of the hut, even with its smoke—better to choke than to sizzle on one side. He looked over his shoulder in vague hope that the breeze might have shifted further, to a direction that would not fill the place with smoke blown back down the smoke hole.

  It had not; but he had left the door open behind him, and evidently this had created a draft that had the smoke once more exiting the building.

  What had been trapped inside was rapidly thinning out.

  "By Saint George," said Chandos, turning back from watching Dagget and his men depart, "it will be a cool day."

  He inhaled deeply and with satisfaction.

  "—And a good day for us. I feel it in my bones. But, Sir James"—his gaze returned to Jim—"I would recommend you lose no time in dressing and arming. Meanwhile, we will see about covering this fire with earth to put it out. The sky will be light soon, and we do not want anyone in our enemy's camp to see smoke against the sky, only a half-mile or so from them. I will send a man to pack your possessions and see them safely onto your sumpter-horse, if you wish."

  "I'd appreciate that," said Jim. His back, which had been away from the fire, was freezing.

  He turned to all but run for the shelter and the warm clothes waiting for him there.

  Along with most of the smoke, memory of his nightmare was now almost gone. It occurred to Jim, as he mounted Gorp a little later—after a hasty goblet of wine and some cold meat—that he no longer felt the chest-tearing emotion it had awakened in him. Now, his head clearing, he told himself that the cause of it had probably been an unadmitted dread of what he would be going into this morning.

  He would much rather have been riding toward this armed meeting with Brian beside him—for all Chandos' ability with weapons and skill as a war-commander. Brian would at least care about how Jim might make out in the fighting. Jim felt singularly lonely and forgotten.

  When Sir John had talked about the single-mindedness of veteran soldiers, Jim had been strongly and guiltily aware that he was not in their class. Unlike Chandos, unlike Brian—unlike just about every knight he had encountered so far in this world—far from relishing a fight, he was willing to go far out of his way to avoid it. Unconsciously, he had been fearing the worst; and his dreaming mind had made that fear into the worst possible dream it could produce—in which he had no chance to survive—nor did Angie.

  Carefully, each horse led at its head by a man-at-arms who was picking a way through possible noisy obstacles like dead branches, they moved toward their objective. Chandos had ordered his force in three divisions. In the center, side by side, were Jim and Chandos, with the three young knights flanking them, and then those men-at-arms, who had had experience of fighting with a heavy spear.

  On both flanks of their line rode mounted men-at-arms, with lighter armor and spears, whose job would be to sweep forward in an encircling movement while those in the center took the brunt of the shock of meeting opposing heavily armored men and powerful horses. Everyone in their party was here; the baggage and riding-horses had been left behind, unattended, in their camp.

  Dagget and the others who had been sent ahead to take out the sentries were also to have a look at the enemy camp and report back on whether all were asleep there, or whether there was a portion of their force awake, armed, and ready to repel any unexpected assault.

  Chandos had said this was unlikely—these men were here expecting to attack, not to be attacked. But the older knight clearly had no intention of taking chances.

  Their advance was cautious and slow, but it seemed to Jim they were approaching the enemy camp, if anything, all too fast. He was over his first emotions about the upcoming conflict. But he was also uncomfortably aware that the wine and food he had hastily swallowed lay heavy and undigested in his stomach; and now, even under his clothes and all the padding beneath his armor, there was a coldness in him.

  He had been in fights in his human shape before, but never against horsed and ready foes; and something within him grew smaller and tighter at the prospect. There was a wet wood-and-earth smell to the forest. It must have rained for a while before morning. They should be very close to the enemy camp now.

  Dagget appeared suddenly at the nose of Chandos' horse. Sir John held up his hand to signal a halt. The sky was already lightening overhead to the point where, even in the trees here, they could make each other out at some little distance, and the hand-signal was passed on right and left down the advancing line so that everyone stopped.

  "There were four on guard, out about half a bowshot from the camp," said Dagget to Sir John. "One of them was even sleeping. They are all now slain. We went on to the camp; and all there are asleep, as far as we could tell wit
hout looking into their tents, m'Lord."

  Chandos lifted his eyes to the rapidly lightening sky.

  "Best we not waste time, then," he said. "At the first true light there will be those who rise early to start fires and prepare food."

  He pushed his hand forward through the air. Once more the signal went right and left along the line. They moved on.

  The raw morning breeze had continued to swing, and now blew into their faces, bringing the smell of smoke from the camp before them. Jim's visor was still up; and when he looked right and left, he saw that Chandos and the other knights also had their visors up.

  Curiously, this was comforting. They had at least a few more moments before the instant of meeting the enemy would come. He tried to take more comfort from the fact that he was flanked by strong, trained, and—except for the three younger knights—experienced fighters; but instead, what crept into his mind was the possibility that he might fail the rest of them by doing something outrageous, like holding back or dodging at the final moment of conflict. Even using his magic—forbidden in combat—would be criminal in their eyes.

  He must not. He told himself he would not. He was just letting himself be affected by the cold, dark morning, and by the tension of the slow, steady pace of their attack on sleeping men—in which he, as well as others who were now living, could die in the next hour or so.

  Now the smoke-smell was stronger. Even as he watched, Chandos reached up and snapped his visor down. The young knights followed his example, and so did Jim. He had always had a slight touch of claustrophobia, and with the shutting of the visor it seemed that his helmet became stuffy, and he had to work to breathe, smelling again the smoke from the hut. But at that moment Chandos' horse began to move faster and his voice came clearly.

  "All right, messires!" he called. "We have come quietly this far, but no longer. Now, we ride!"