The Dragon and the Dark Knight
M. J. Putney
Praise for
The Dragon and the Dark Knight
Originally published in the
Dragon Lovers anthology
“In Mary Jo Putney's exquisitely crafted and deliciously witty The Dragon and the Dark Knight, freelance knight Kenrick of Rathbourne is hired to slay a dragon but changes his mind after meeting the mysterious Lady Ariane.”
—Booklist
“Well written, stylish and above all inventive. “
—Anne McCaffrey
“Mary Jo Putney’s story starts out as a classic but develops a twist that startles and delights.”
—M. D. Benoit
Contents
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Author’s Note
Also by Mary Jo Putney
About the Author
Foreword
This novella was written as part of a dragon anthology done with my friends Jo Beverley, Barbara Samuel, and Karen Harbaugh. We had great fun working together, and the stories are all very different! This is the first time The Dragon and the Dark Knight has appeared in a digital version. Enjoy!
—M. J. Putney
Chapter 1
England
In the days of knights, ladies, and dragons
As a lad, Sir Kenrick of Rathbourne had thought that the life of a free lance knight would be a grand and glorious adventure. It wasn’t.
The last tournament of the English season had just ended in a sea of mud from the relentless rain. Even Kenrick’s tent was leaking as he sat wearily on a wooden stool so his squire, Giles, could take off his greaves. Every inch of his body ached, but at least he’d broken no bones.
He calculated his finances, wondering if the silver belt he’d won in the tournament would sell for enough to pay passage south for himself and his squire. “Should we cross to France and try our fortunes, Giles? It would be warmer there.”
The blond youth looked doubtful. “Sunshine would be good, sire.” He peeled off Kenrick’s drenched and dripping surcoat. “But at this season, we might have to spend weeks in a Channel port, waiting for the weather to improve enough to sail across to France. By the time we reached a warm place, winter would be over.”
Kenrick frowned, thinking of the weather and the difficulty of shipping horses across the Channel. “Very likely you’re right. Wintering in England is more sensible.” He raised his arms so his squire could lift the chain mail hauberk off over his head. “A pity the country is so peaceful. If there were a few little wars being fought, it would be easy to find a place for the winter.”
“Especially for a knight so skilled as you, Sir Kenrick,” Giles said loyally as he pulled off the hauberk with a ringing of metal links. The mail garment was splashed with mud up to the shoulders, and would require hours of cleaning.
Kenrick considered what castles might allow him and his squire to winter over. If the country was at war, he and his sword would be welcome anywhere, but in time of peace, a free lance knight, squire, and horses were merely more mouths to feed during the hungry months. “I suppose we must go to Alveley. Since there’s always a risk of Welsh raiders, the Lord of Alveley should be willing to have us.”
Giles looked depressed. Alveley Castle was surely the most crowded and uncomfortable fortress in England. They’d spent the previous winter there, and had left eagerly at the first scent of spring.
As Kenrick stripped off the padded garment that protected his body from the hard links of the hauberk, he wondered what he could have done differently. Granted, as a bastard he had been fortunate to receive knightly training at all. That had come as a result of his boyhood strength and fighting ability. He had won his first tourney wearing borrowed armor.
Since then, he had become known as the Dark Knight, respected for his skills even though many sneered at the bar sinister that slashed across his scarlet shield and proclaimed his illegitimacy. Still, other bastards had established themselves comfortably. He had expected that by now he would have earned land and a wife.
Instead, though he did well enough in tourneys to support himself and his squire, he lived a hand to mouth existence with no place to call home. Once, a wealthy lord who admired his fighting skill had hinted that he would consider Kenrick a suitable match for his daughter. The fiefdom of a fine manor would have come with her. But the subject had been dropped, never to be raised again. Giles heard a rumor through the squires’ grapevine that the lord’s daughter had found Kenrick too dark, too frightening. Given the scar that slashed down his left cheek, he couldn’t blame her for her reaction.
Whatever the reasons, he had never managed to impress a lord enough to be granted a fief of his own, and without land he couldn’t take a wife. One night, deep in his cups, a baron had said that the trouble with Kenrick was that he was so by-the-saints independent. The term “stubborn” had been used also. The words had not been meant as a compliment.
After Kenrick dried himself with rough towels, he dressed for the feast that would be held to celebrate the end of the tournament. He hoped the great hall would be dark enough that the shabby condition of his best garments wouldn’t be obvious.
Giles poured him a goblet of wine. “I was talking with some of the other squires,” he said hesitantly. “’Tis said that a mighty baron is looking for a champion who will be richly rewarded if he can successfully perform a dangerous task.”
Even though this was surely no more than squire gossip, Kenrick couldn’t help but be curious. “What kind of reward?”
“The fiefdom of a handsome manor by the sea.” Giles poured a second goblet for himself. “In Cornwall.”
“And what is the dangerous task?”
The squire said hesitantly, “To…to slay a dragon.”
Kenrick almost choked on his wine. “Blessed Mother, that’s a troubadour’s tale! Do you know anyone who has actually seen a dragon? No, it’s always a friend of the cousin of the baker’s wife, who lives two hundred leagues away. There are no dragons.”
“One of the squires I was talking with last night said he’d seen one,” Giles retorted. “And…and I thought I saw one once when I was on the coast of Wales. I’m not sure since it was so far away. But it didn’t fly like any bird I’ve ever seen.”
“So you believe in dragons.” Kenrick took a more cautious mouthful of wine. He hadn’t known the boy was so credulous.
“I’m not sure,” Giles said carefully. “But they might exist—there are so many stories over so many years. If the danger in Cornwall isn’t a dragon, perhaps it is some other peril that you may conquer to win the fiefdom.”
“Perhaps, if your tale is true. But if we were to investigate, we would need a name and location. Such tales are usually remarkably free of details. Who is the baron? Where is the estate?” Kenrick shook his head and finished his wine.
“Lord William of Penruth,” Giles said promptly. “His castle is on the south coast of Cornwall.”
Kenrick frowned and rested the goblet on his knee. “I’ve heard of Penruth. He’s a rich and powerful man. Why would he need to lure a champion by such means? He must have a goodly number of knights and men-at-arms.”
“’Tis said that several of his own men died in the quest, and the rest refuse to try.”
“They sound a poor lot,” Kenrick said, but the detail made the story s
eem more believable. “So Penruth thinks a tournament champion would be better able to defeat the menace, whatever it is.”
“Or he thinks it’s easier to let free lance knights get killed,” Giles said dryly.
“So cynical for one so young,” Kenrick murmured. “Did your gossiping squires know if any tournament knights intend to accept the challenge?”
Giles frowned. “’Tis said that several already have. None survived.”
The squire listed several names. Two were men Kenrick had fought against in earlier tourneys. He hadn’t seen either in a while, now that he thought about it. “If this is true, there may real danger on the Cornish coast. Pirates or bandits if not dragons.”
He finished his wine in a gulp and held the goblet out for more. For the chance of a fiefdom, he would risk much. “Shall we venture forth to test our luck? At the least, it might be warmer that far south.”
Giles’ face glowed with excitement. “Yes, sire!”
As they swallowed the rest of their wine, Kenrick hoped they wouldn’t regret this improbable quest.
Chapter 2
Kenrick pulled his horse to a halt as they reached the crest of a steep hill that overlooked Penruth Castle. The sprawling fortress stood on a hill surrounded by flat, grassy moorland. A river flowed across the moor and fed a moat that added to the castle’s defenses. The cloudy sky and wisps of wintry mist that trailed around the stone walls gave the scene a strange, unearthly beauty.
“Cornwall is an uncanny land,” Giles said as he halted beside Kenrick.
“Aye, but it is indeed warmer than the Midlands,” Kenrick pointed out practically. “Now it’s time to find out how true the squires’ tale is.”
“What if it is just a tale?” Giles said with a furrowed brow.
Kenrick shrugged and set his horse down the hill. “I’ve seen a part of Britain I hadn’t seen before, so the trip is not useless even if there is no dragon and no reward.”
In fact, he quite liked Cornwall, uncanny though it was. The land was far from Britain’s best, with rocky hills and desolate moors, but there were also fertile valleys and coastal fishing villages, and the breeze had a balminess that pleased him. The thought of winning a fief here would be unbearably exciting if he allowed himself to dwell on it.
He concentrated on the steep path downward. He’d know soon enough.
“Sir Kenrick of Rathbourne,” the man-at-arms announced to the Lord of Penruth. “He craves an audience with you, my lord.”
Kenrick and Giles had been admitted without problems, his knightly equipment a guarantee of his rank. Giles was left with the horses while the man-at-arms guided Kenrick to the baron’s mews. As they walked across the bailey, Kenrick schooled his face to fierceness. More often he tried to look less alarming, but today he needed to look worthy of taking on a dragon.
When they entered the mews and Kenrick was announced, William of Penruth turned to greet the visitor. He was a large, brawny man of middle years, his dark hair barely touched with silver. A magnificent falcon perched on his leather-clad arm.
He drawled, “You are here to slay the dragon, I presume?”
“Yes, and to win the fiefdom you have offered.” Concealing his surprise, Kenrick held the older man’s gaze steadily. This sober lord believed there really was a dragon? Perhaps this journey to Cornwall wasn’t the frivolous quest he’d expected. “I would see the land first, to decide if it is worth the risk.”
A gleam of interest showed in Penruth’s eyes. “You’re more practical than your predecessors. You may see the property if I decide your experience is sufficient. I will not allow you to challenge the dragon unless there is some hope you will succeed. The more knights who are lost, the harder it is to find new knights who are willing to try.”
The implication that Kenrick was incompetent rankled, but he understood the baron’s point. “I have made my living by my sword ever since I was knighted. Two years ago I was champion in the individual competition at the great tourney of St. Aliquis.” He pulled his sword partially from its sheath, revealing the superb workmanship and glittering blade. “I won this sword.”
“Then you are a champion indeed, Sir Kenrick.” The baron fed a tidbit of raw meat to the falcon. Its curving beak slashed into the bloody flesh.
Actually, what Kenrick had been on that occasion was by-the-Virgin lucky. St. Aliquis had been swamped with rain. Knights and horses slipped around in the mud like drunken stoats. Kenrick’s destrier, Thunder, was no beauty, but he was a stalwart steed in the mud. He had carried the day for Kenrick. Not that one should publicly give credit to a horse. He said tersely, “If you have further concerns about my skills, I shall be happy to engage with you or any of your knights so that you might judge for yourself.”
“No need. You have convinced me of your prowess. Pray avail yourself of Penruth’s hospitality. Tomorrow one of my men will take you to see the fief of Tregarth, which is on the way to Dragon Island, the beast’s lair. There is a good manor and some decent fields as well as a fishing village.” The baron handed the falcon to his falconer. “Slay the dragon and Tregarth is yours, but the dragon’s treasure is mine.”
“There’s a treasure?”
“So ‘tis said. I’ve not seen it myself.” Penruth fed another tidbit to his falcon. “But if a treasure exists, it is on my land and belongs to me.”
“Of course.” Kenrick was less interested in treasure than land. “A dragon, a treasure. The only thing missing is a maiden to be saved.”
Penruth’s brows arched. “Hadn’t you heard? A maiden has been seen at Dragon Island, if the beast hasn’t eaten her. Some poor mad village girl, I believe.”
“Even village girls deserve to be saved from peril,” Kenrick said, his voice edged. His boyhood rank hadn’t been much above that of common villagers, and such folk had been his friends.
“By all means, save the maiden if you can,” Penruth drawled. “But that will not win you Tregarth. Only slaying the dragon will do that.”
“Have you seen the dragon with your own eyes, my lord?”
“I have. Do not underestimate the beast, Rathbourne, or your bones will join the others scattered on Dragon Island.” The baron turned away, more interested in falcons than knights.
Kenrick left the mews. So there really was a dragon. This would be…interesting.
The next morning, a young knight named Sir Jesmond was assigned as their guide to Tregarth and Dragon Island. A couple of hours of riding brought them to the manor of Tregarth. The fief was Kenrick’s dream. A spacious, well-fortified stone house was set among fertile fields and solid outbuildings. A hill curved partway around the house to shield it from the winds, and there was a view over the sea that caught Kenrick’s imagination. He would risk much to win this place.
Sir Jesmond summoned the bailiff, Master Arnulph, who was not too busy at this season, and the man offered a tour of the property. The more Kenrick saw of Tregarth, the more he wanted it. As they looked out from a headland at the crashing surf far below, Kenrick asked the bailiff, “Have you seen the dragon?”
The bailiff hesitated. “Aye, I’ve see him flying. He gives me no trouble.”
“He doesn’t steal your livestock?” Kenrick asked, surprised.
“He has never harmed the manor or the village,” Arnulph said firmly.
The bailiff didn’t seem happy about Kenrick’s mission. Did he not want Kenrick as a master, or was there another reason for his demeanor? “I’d heard that the dragon has destroyed villages and crops in this area,” Kenrick remarked. “In fact, we rode through a burned village this morning.”
“There’s been no trouble here,” Arnulph said again, his expression flat.
Wondering what the bailiff wasn’t saying, Kenrick mounted his horse and they continued along the coast to the dragon’s lair. The land grew ever more rocky and desolate. Finally they crested a rugged hill and looked down on a bay that contained a massive stone outcropping that thrust high out of the sea. Though called an is
land, it was connected to the mainland by a natural causeway that would flood at high tide. The position was very strong for a castle, or for a dragon.
Sir Jesmond halted. “There’s the cursed place.” He glanced at the sky uneasily. “Dragon Island is larger than it looks, full of caves and little meadows. A perfect place for a monster’s lair.”
“Which is why the dragon has defeated all challengers.” Kenrick studied the site with narrowed eyes. “How many knights have taken up your lord’s challenge?”
“You will be the thirteenth,” Sir Jesmond said flatly. “None have returned.”
Kenrick felt a chill on the back of his neck. Telling himself not to be superstitious, he said, “Thirteenth and last, because I shall succeed.” He collected his reins and started down the rough trail toward Dragon Island.
“You’re going to try your chances today?” Sir Jesmond said with alarm.
“I only wish to scout the area so I will be prepared when I return in earnest.”
Again the other knight glanced fearfully at the sky, as if he expected the dragon to appear at any moment. He gasped, his clenched hands startling his horse, when a winged creature appeared in the distance.
“It’s an osprey,” Giles said as he peered at the silhouette. “Not a dragon.”
“Of course it’s an osprey,” Sir Jesmond said testily, as if he hadn’t revealed himself in that moment of fear. “I shall leave you to your scouting. It’s easy enough to return to Penruth. Just follow the coastline east.”
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