The Dragon Knight Page 2

  "No," he answered, "it's just me, in a dragon body. But it just happens to me without warning. I can't control it."

  "That's what I was afraid of," said Angie. "That's why I ordered your horse and armor. I want you to talk to Carolinus right away about this."

  "Not Carolinus," protested Jim feebly.

  "Carolinus!" repeated Angie firmly. "You've got to get to the bottom of this. Do you think you can stay human long enough to put on the armor, get on the horse, and get out of sight, before you do any more changing?"

  "I haven't got the slightest idea," said Jim, looking at her unhappily.

  Chapter Three

  Jim was lucky. He got safely out of sight of the castle and into the woods without changing back into a dragon again. Happily, the Tinkling Water, where S. Carolinus lived, was not far from the castle. Carolinus was the magician who had been involved with Jim in the matter of the Loathly Tower the year before. He had turned out to be a trusty, if equally crusty and short-tempered, friend. He was a magician with a AAA+ rating. There were only three magicians in this world, Jim had been advised by the Accounting Office who had not only the AAA, which was the highest rating awarded, but the + which lifted it above even the extraordinary level of those three letters.

  Jim, by contrast, was a magician—if only an involuntary one—with a mere D rating. Both Carolinus and the Accounting Office had intimated that he would be very lucky indeed if in his lifetime he ever progressed up to the C class. In this world, apparently, as in the twentieth-century one that Jim and Angie had left behind them, you either had it or you did not.

  As usual, riding in the woods had a calming effect upon Jim's nerves. There was something marvelously relaxing about being out by yourself alone on a horse, which for the sake of common prudence and economy, you rode at a walk. You were in no hurry, and usually whatever urgency there was in you tended to bleed out gradually.

  Furthermore, the fourteenth-century English woodland—even in the early spring of this world—was a pleasant place to be. The trees had all grown high enough to throw enough shade so that only a little grass, by way of ground cover, appeared in the sunnier spots and survived. There were occasional brambles, thickets, and thick stands of willow; but the road sensibly avoided them by simply going around any such obstacles. Like many things here, the road was very pragmatic. It dealt with things as it found them, without trying to adapt them to its own will and circumstances.

  Also, it was a very pleasant day. It had been raining for the past three days, but today the sun shone; and the clouds that could occasionally be seen between the treetops were few and far between. It was warm for a late March day, but just enough to make Jim's clothing and armor bearable.

  He was not dressed in the suit of plate armor he had acquired by involuntary inheritance from the former Lord of his castle. The armor had required some adjustment. The former Baron de Bois de Malencontri had been heavy-bodied and wide-shouldered enough, but he had not had Jim's height. As a result some changes had been made by an armorer in Stourbridge. But even with these, the suit of plate armor was still uncomfortable to wear for any length of time, and particularly when there was no need to.

  Today Jim had felt that there was no need to. Such heavy armor was kept, as Jim's good friend, neighbor, and comrade-in-arms, Sir Brian Neville-Smythe was fond of saying, for hunting mere-dragons, spear-runnings, or otherwise important business. What Jim wore now was essentially a light mail shirt over a leather hauberk, the whole reinforced with rings along the arms and plates over the shoulder, where the impact of an edged weapon might not cut through to him, but could easily break the bone beneath.

  He also wore a light helmet covering the upper part of his head, with a nasal projecting down from it in front to protect the bridge of his nose and try to keep it from being broken in case of trouble; also, a pair of equally light greaves on the tops of his thighs.

  The end result of all this was that, although the day might have been a little cool for Jim in the kind of clothes he would have been used to wearing in the twentieth century, it was perhaps even a bit on the warm side for him under these conditions. The district was in the English Midlands and already had more than a foot into spring.

  Consequently, Jim's spirits rose. What if he was indeed turning into a dragon unexpectedly from time to time? Carolinus would be able to tell him why and set the matter right. The closer he got to the Tinkling Water where Carolinus lived, the more peaceful and cheerful he became. His spirits had lightened to the point where he was almost on the verge of breaking into song, so good was he feeling.

  Just at that moment, however, he rounded a curve in the forest track that was the road; and saw, crossing ahead of him, a family of wild boar; the sow first, followed by half a dozen young ones. Meanwhile, facing in Jim's direction almost as if waiting for him, was the father of the family, the boar himself.

  The thought of song vanished from Jim's mind, and he reined his horse to a halt.

  He was not unarmed. He had learned not to be in the long winter sessions with Sir Brian, as he practiced with that good knight at using the weapons of the period—and picked them up remarkably well and swiftly, which was not surprising, seeing that Jim was a natural athlete, having been a AA-class volleyball player back in his own twentieth-century Earth. But here in a fourteenth-century world it was not wise for a single person or even a group of persons to go unarmed any place. Outside of wild boar, like the one confronting him right now, there were as well unknown wolves, bears, outlaws, unfriendly neighbors; and any of a number of other inimical possibilities.

  Consequently, Jim was wearing his regular broadsword, and the smaller of his two shields hung from his saddle. In addition to that, a long poignard in its sheath balanced the sword by hanging down on the other side of his belt—a daggerlike instrument with a blade some eleven inches long. However, none of these were ideal tools for discouraging an attack by a large and well-tusked boar, like the one he saw before him.

  Not that a boar like that was likely to be discouraged, even by a knight in full plate armor, with spear. Once a boar made up his mind to charge, as Aragh had once said, that was about all he would be able to think about until everything was over.

  There were other weapons more suited to handling a boar than those Jim wore. One was a boar spear, which was a short, but stoutly built spear, made mainly of metal, so that the boar could not bite its shaft in half. It had a crosspiece some three feet behind its wickedly tined head. The purpose of the crosspiece was to keep the boar from charging all the way up the spear, ignoring it completely; and going to work with his tusks on the man who held the spear. Even May Heather's battleaxe would have been welcome at the moment.

  Jim sat and waited. He hoped that the family, consisting of the sow and the younger boars, would vanish into the woods on the far side of the road; and that the boar himself would turn to follow them. Nonetheless Jim was conscious of feeling uneasy. His horse was definitely uneasy. Jim wished he could afford a horse like Sir Brian's—which was a highly trained war-horse, with as much instinct to attack on sight as the boar had; and trained to fight anything before it with teeth and hooves.

  But horses like that were worth a young fortune; and while Jim had a certain amount of magic credit to his name, plus the castle, his supply of ready coin was small.

  The big question was, would the boar's natural desire to attack any potential opponent on sight overcome its other natural desire to move on peaceably with its family? The answer could be given only by the boar itself.

  Now, however, the boar had apparently thought the matter over. The sow and the last of the young boars had disappeared into the further woods. It was time, the boar seemed to feel, to put up or shut up. It had been snorting and pawing the turf with its front feet; now it began not merely scratching the earthy surface but throwing up small clods of it. Clearly, it was getting ready to charge. At this moment, Jim's horse literally screamed and, as literally, bolted from under him; so that he fell to
the ground with a thump.

  As he fell, he felt a second of almost intolerable pressure, which was as suddenly relieved. He found himself looking at the scene from a slightly different angle.

  He was a dragon again. In the process of turning into one, he had literally burst out of both his armor and his clothes—with the exception of his hose which, being made of a stretchy, knitted material, instead of tearing or breaking its fastenings, had simply rolled itself down his legs. So that now he gave the rather ridiculous picture of a dragon hobbled by what looked like the lower half of some long underwear equipped with booties.

  But at the moment this was unimportant. What was important was that the boar was still there.

  Nonetheless, things had clearly changed. The boar had stopped kicking up dirt and snorting. It was frozen, staring at the dragon that now confronted it. For a moment, Jim did not appreciate his good fortune. Then understanding overcame him.

  "Get out of here!" he bellowed in full dragon voice at the boar. "Go on. Git!"

  The boar, like all its kind, was assuredly no coward. Cornered, even by a dragon, it undoubtedly would have charged. On the other hand, a dragon was not the ideal opponent, even for a boar; and in addition, this dragon had appeared out of nowhere. Combative, the boar might be; but after the manner of all wild animals, it had an instinct for survival. It turned and vanished into the undergrowth in the direction the rest of its family had gone.

  Jim looked around for his horse. He found it behind him about twenty yards and a little off into the woods, peering out at him, and to his telescopic dragon vision, clearly shivering.

  Thoughtfully, Jim disentangled his hind feet from his hose. He inspected them. They, at least, might be wearable again. He contemplated the rest of his clothing and armor. Even if he had his human body back, it would be difficult to redress and rearmor himself in the pieces that were about him. On the other hand, it would not do to leave them here in the road. He gathered them up and made a small pile, which he tied together with his sword belt. It had broken when he had become a dragon, but its ends could be tied, clumsily.

  Gazing at it, he thought that the bundle would probably ride all right on his back, if he fitted the edge of the belt between a couple of the diagonal bony plates that stood up along his spine and out over the top of his tail.

  He turned to his horse, gazing at it slantwise out of the comers of his eyes, so as not alarm it by appearing to put his attention full upon it. It had ceased shivering, though its skin shone damply with sweat. It was definitely not the equivalent of Sir Brian's noble war-horse, Blanchard of Tours, as Jim had been thinking earlier. But it was a valuable beast, the best of his stable; and leaving it loose here in the woods would be the way to lose it, most likely. On the other hand, it was clearly as uneasy about him in his dragon form as the boar had been.

  He sat thinking. Any attempt to approach the horse would frighten it away from him. Furthermore, any attempt to speak to it would result in the words coming out in his dragon voice, which would also frighten it. He mulled over the problem.

  A sudden inspiration came to him. The horse—in a nostalgic moment Jim had named the stalwart bay gelding "Gorp," after the ancient automobile that had been the only transport Angie and he could afford, back when they had been graduate students in the twentieth-century world—was in no way trained like Blanchard of Tours. But Sir Brian had pointed out that a certain amount of simple, Gorp-level training might still be useful.

  One of the most rudimentary bits of training Sir Brian had recommended Jim start off with, had been teaching Gorp to come when Jim whistled. It was highly important to anyone fighting on horseback. If a knight got unhorsed, but his horse was still serviceable, he should be able to call it to him so he could remount. In the noise and shouting of battle, with the clang of swords on armor, one more voice would not be distinctive. On the other hand, a whistle could be heard by the horse over the other sounds, and be immediately identifiable.

  Consequently, Jim had worked at training Gorp to come to his whistle; and had, as much to his surprise as to Angie's or anyone else's, succeeded. It was just possible now that the horse would come in this moment also to his whistle. That is, if this other body of his could whistle.

  There was no way to find out but by trying it. Jim pursed his lips, which felt very odd in that position to his dragon senses, and blew.

  At first he produced no noise at all. Then so suddenly that he himself was startled, his customary come-hither whistle emerged from the dragon lips.

  Within the trees Gorp pricked up his ears and stirred uneasily. He stared at the dragon shape in the road, but Jim was still carefully not looking directly at him. Jim whistled again.

  In the end it took five whistles. But eventually, almost plodding, Gorp sidled up to the dragon shape; and Jim was able to close one clawed fist on the animal's trailing reins. At last he had what he wanted. He could lead Gorp along with him until he came to Carolinus's. In fact, he could do better than that. He could hook his sword belt to the pommel of the saddle and let Gorp carry the bundle of his clothes, armor, and weapons. He allowed the horse to smell the bundle of clothes first, and Gorp evidently found it reassuring, so that he did not protest when Jim's mighty claws hooked the belt around the pommel of the saddle.

  Gently, Jim turned and attempted to lead Gorp slowly forward along the road.

  Gorp dug in his feet at first, then yielded. He followed.

  It was only a little distance to Carolinus's cottage at the Tinkling Water. As he got closer, a feeling of peace began to overcome Jim, at first suddenly and then powerfully. It was always so with anyone approaching the residence of Carolinus; and Jim no longer wondered at it.

  He now knew that Carolinus's powers as a magician were such that not only was the spot itself peaceful; but it would remain so in the face of almost any eventuality. Should a forest fire sweep through these woods—an unlikely possibility, because of the relatively small amount of undergrowth in the shadow of these monarchical elms—Jim had no doubt that it would carefully part, well short of the Tinkling Water glade, and pass by at a decent distance on either side before reforming its line once more beyond it.

  Jim led Gorp into the glade at last. It was warming, in spite of his situation, to see the tiny clearing among the trees with the stream running through it and tumbling over a small waterfall at its upper end.

  Beside the stream and a little off to one side, close to the small house beyond it, was a pool with a fountain. As Jim and Gorp approached the building, a small fish leaped out of the water, made a graceful curve and as gracefully reentered the water headfirst. For a moment Jim could have believed that what he had actually seen was a miniature mermaid. But it was probably just imagination. He put the thought aside.

  As usual, the Tinkling Water of the stream and fountain lived up to its name. It did indeed tinkle. Not with the sound of tiny bells, but with the fragile sound of glass chimes stirred by a gentle breeze. Also as usual, on either side of the immaculately-raked gravel walk—though Jim had never seen anyone, let alone Carolinus, actually raking it—were two lines of flower beds filled with a crowded congregation of asters, tulips, zinnias, roses, and lilies-of-the-valley, all blooming in complete disregard for their normal seasons to do so.

  In the midst of one of the flower plots rose a post to which was attached a white painted board, on which in black angular letters the name S. Carolinus was elegantly imprinted. Jim smiled at it and dropped Gorp's reins, leaving the horse to crop at the thick carpet of green grass which surrounded all else in the glade, and went up to the house by himself. From this spot, he knew Gorp would not stray.

  The house was a modest, narrow affair of two stories, with a sharply slanting roof. The walls seemed to be made of pebble-sized stones of a uniform gray color and the roof itself was of light blue tiles, almost the color of the sky. A red-brick chimney rose out of the blue roof. Jim went on up to the front door, which was green and set above a single red-painted stone step.


  He had been intending to knock at the door, but as he got close, he saw that it was standing slightly ajar. From within the house came the sound of a voice raised in exasperation, and snarling away in some language Jim could not understand, but which evidently possessed a great number of words that sounded as if they had jagged edges and were anything but complimentary.

  The voice was that of Carolinus. The mage was evidently angry about something.

  Jim hesitated, suddenly doubtful. Carolinus was seldom numbered among the ranks of patient individuals. It had not occurred to Jim that he might be bringing his problem to the other at a time when Carolinus was having a difficulty of his own.

  But the feeling of unease which had come over Jim yielded almost immediately to the general feeling of peace in the environment. He went on up the single red step, knocked diffidently at the door, knocked again when his first knock was apparently ignored, and at last—since Carolinus seemed determined not to pay any attention to the sound of it—pushed open the door and squeezed through it.

  The single cluttered room he entered took up the whole ground floor of the building; but right now it had no light coming into it through its windows at all, though no blinds or curtains appeared to have been drawn, and a fairly substantial gloom pervaded it. Only on its curved ceiling were scattered specks of light.

  Carolinus, a thin old man in a red robe, wearing a black skullcap and an equally thin, rather dingy-looking, white beard, was standing over what looked like a basketball-sized sphere of ivory color, which glowed with an inner light. From apertures on that sphere, some of the light was escaping to make the flecks on the ceiling. Carolinus was swearing at it in the unknown tongue Jim had heard as he came in.

  "Er—" said Jim, hesitantly.

  Carolinus stopped cursing—it could be nothing but cursing he was doing—and removed his gaze from the globe to glare at Jim.

  "Not my day for drag—" he began fiercely, then broke off, adding in a hardly more friendly note, "So! James!"