He also made a stab at drawing a map, putting down what geographical features he could remember Raoul mentioning. It was an improvement over Raoul's map, but not to any great extent, since Jim had never been much of a draftsman. But it would help; and on this particular sheet of parchment there was plenty of room to write in extra information gleaned from his two companions. He made three copies of the information and the map.
Over dinner that night the three made their final plans. Only Giles and Jim were to leave immediately. Brian, as Sir John had ordered, would stay in Brest to take charge of their men when they arrived on a later ship, before fallowing in their path. It was arranged that Sir Giles and Jim would leave signs by which Brian would be able to check that he was indeed on their trail, since he would have to travel relatively fast to catch up with them—at least at first.
So it was that their last dinner turned into a celebration after all; even though no servants had been found to help Giles and Jim along their way. Men to be hired in town, there certainly were. But they were all locals, and none that Jim's two companions trusted. Nonetheless, both Giles and Brian were in high spirits. Jim could not have changed this if he had wanted to. The other two were built for action; and finally, after sitting on their hands for several days, they were about to engage in some—or at least Jim and Giles were and Brian hoped to be, within the next few days.
"I can't think," said Brian, as they sat over the remnants of their meal, the other two knights still cheerfully drinking wine, "but that Sir John will see them sent to us just as quickly as possible. Clearly this matter of the rescue of the Prince was of first importance to him. I think the two of you can leave without fearing that I will be far behind you in starting out."
For the first time the whole storybook unreality of the adventure of rescuing a Prince began to assume the hard structure of reality in Jim's mind. For some reason he could not name, he felt suddenly chilled.
Chapter Seventeen
The route that Jim and Sir Giles took, following Jim's improved version of Sir Raoul's map, led them across the Aulne River southeast to Quimper and along the southern coast, through Lorient, Hennebont, Vannes, and at last inland to Redon. The coastal areas were fairly cheerful grounds to traverse; but Jim was a little shocked when they began to move into the interior of France. Here, the devastation of warring armies was too visible for comfort.
They passed more ruins than were pleasant to see. The populace, generally, hid from them in the open country; and were inclined to be distant if not cool with them when they stopped in the towns. This situation continued as they went on toward Angers, where they at last came up to the Loire River.
For two weeks they had been completely alone. This did not seem to bother Giles at all. Like Brian, he seemed to regard the world simply as a stage for one huge, continuous adventure. Even more than Brian, he seemed to get enormous pleasure simply out of being alive. Jim, however, worried about whether Brian had managed to join up with their men and follow behind, as Sir John had ordered. But he had an even larger, secret, worry on his mind.
In all this distance, he had neither seen, smelt, nor felt the presence of any French dragons.
To say that this was peculiar was the least of it. Jim had been conscious, every time he had been in his dragon body at home, of the fact that other dragons were in the vicinity. How, exactly, he could not say, but the feeling was a real one. Secoh had assured him that when he got to France he would feel the presence of local dragons; and he was to contact the first ones he ran across.
Each night when they had been in open country, Jim had left Sir Giles by the campfire and gone off into the woods far enough to safely change into his dragon form. In this he had made every possible effort to feel the nearby presence of other dragons. But he had felt nothing.
It puzzled him. He could think of only two possible explanations. Either the dragons were clustered elsewhere—continual warfare in this area might well have led them to move out—or they were somehow managing to hide so well from him that he could not even feel their presence.
The latter explanation he doubted. There would be no point in dragons being able to sense that others of their own kind were nearby, if that sense could in any way be blocked out. Certainly earth and stone could not do it. Every time he had been in his dragon body at Malencontri, he had been as conscious of Cliffside, with its community of dragons within it, as he might have been of thunderclouds on the horizon on an otherwise bright summer day. This, in spite of the fact that Malencontri was a good five leagues—or fifteen English miles—from Cliffside's upthrust of heavy rock.
However, on the first day's ride he and Giles made beyond Tours toward Amboise on the direct road to Orléans and Malvinne's castle, Jim, on turning into his dragon shape in the darkness away from the fire, got a strong feeling of dragon presence. It was almost directly north of where they had set up camp for the night. He changed back into his human form, put his clothes back on and, thinking deeply, rejoined Sir Giles by the fire.
"Giles," he said, "there's something that I had to keep to myself up until this point, and still need to keep mostly a secret. But I'm going to have to separate from you for a little while. Why don't you go on to Amboise and take a room big enough for two of us at the best inn there. It may take a few days, but I'll join you there. If I haven't joined you in three days, go on to Blois and wait for me there. Sorry about having to keep this secret from you, but it's part of my part of this matter."
"Hah!" said Sir Giles, sipping genially at the wise cup he had filled from one of the bottles of wine they bad supplied themselves with in Tours—their supply having grown low by the time they got there. "Indeed!"
He did not, Jim thought with relief, sound in the least offended at not being taken into the secret.
"Yes," Jim said. "In Blois, do the same thing, take a room and wait. If for some reason I never catch up with you at all, then stay put until Brian shows up. If I haven't shown up by that time, it'll be up to you and Brian to do what you can to rescue the Prince. You remember the directions Sir Raoul gave us for finding the spot in the forest where we're to meet this Bernard—that former man-at-arms of Sir Raoul's father, who was changed by Malvinne's magic?"
"Hah! Yes," said Giles, twisting his mustache, "but you mean Brian and I should make no effort to find you?"
"I think that the rescue of Prince Edward is of more importance," said Jim.
"True. It must be so," said Giles. "But I am not happy to think that we might lose you, James. I had thought that someday you might come visit me in my home in Northumberland."
Jim was deeply touched. He had run into this same sort of thing with Brian. These knights were as quick to make deep friendships as they were to make lifelong enemies; and there was a suspicious shine to Giles's rather liquid brown eyes. Jim had never gotten quite used to the freedom with which these fourteenth-century men broke into tears.
"I—." He had to stop to clear his throat. "I think there's no danger of that. It's just that unforeseen things may slow me up to the point where it's better that the two of you go ahead. I was just making sure that we agreed on all possibilities ahead of time. I'm really expecting to see you at Amboise; and, if not there, I ought to be at Blois within a day or so of when you stop there."
"I am much relieved to hear you think so," said Giles, "much relieved, indeed. You're a gentleman I have come to like and admire, James."
"And I, you," said Jim. He took refuge in the universal escape route of this world. "Come, let's have a glass of wine upon it!"
"Willingly!" said Giles, almost fiercely.
They filled their cups and drank; and by the time the wine cups were empty, the moment of emotion had passed.
"I'll be leaving all my horses and gear with you," said Jim. "The only things I'll be taking will be my clothes, my sword belt, sword, and poignard. And a short length of rope for which I'll have a special need."
"Hah! Rope?" said Giles, then checked himself. "Forgive me, Ja
mes. This going off of yours is secret, as you say; and I should not inquire. Will you not also need some provisions?"
"Thanks," said Jim. "To tell the truth I hadn't stopped to think about that, myself. But yes, some easily carried meat, bread, and wine might not be a bad idea—but only a small amount. The sort of emergency rations a knight might take to help him through a day's hunting."
"So little," murmured Sir Giles. "Hah! Excuse me James, I am intruding again on something that's your matter, entirely."
He looked at his empty wine cup. From what Jim could see he had drunk about a bottle and a half of the wine they had been carrying with them.
"Best probably we should get to bed early, then," Giles said. "You'll leave at dawn, James? Or somewhat later?"
"At dawn I think. Yes," said Jim. He thought he detected in Giles's voice a sort of wistful note on the suggestion that Jim might not leave until later on in the day. But the dragon feel Jim had sensed had not been close. He might have to cover some distance to find its source.
He was very grateful that Carolinus had shrunk the sack of jewels that was his passport to a size he could swallow. He could make a bundle with his clothes, his sword, his poignard, and whatever food and drink he was carrying, and tie it all about his neck so that it would be fairly secure while he was flying. But to carry the jewels as well was more than he liked to contemplate.
He settled down on the opposite side of the fire from Sir Giles, bundled up in several spare cloaks. To such an extent had he accustomed himself to the rough living of this world-and century, that he was asleep shortly after the other man was. They both woke at dawn and had breakfast, and Jim agreed to have Giles accompany him to the parting point.
The suggestion provided a happy solution to a problem he had not thought of until he was ready to leave. Before, it had been only necessary to get away from the firelight to take off his clothes and change into a dragon in darkness. But it was now daylight, and there were no woods nearby in which he could make the change.
He could, of course, leave Giles here; and, carrying his food, drink, and rope, tramp off the road into the open wasteland that followed it on both sides until he came to some dip in the landscape, or some other place where Giles would not see him in his changed form.
On the other hand, tramping across an open landscape with nothing but his sword and dagger for protection—he would even be leaving his shield with Giles—posed a problem of personal safety.
After all these years of war, the local peasants were as quick to prey on unprotected travelers as anyone else might be. Two knights on horseback, with arms and shield, might be enough to keep them from trying. But a man alone, on foot, would be in danger. There was no reason why Giles should not accompany him to a place where he was hidden from the road, leave him there, and go back. Jim could wait until the other was out of sight before making the change.
He had reached this point in his thinking when his conscience suddenly struck him amidships. He had seen Giles change into a selkie. They were brothers-in-arms. Moreover, Giles was aware not only that Jim was a magician but that he was known as the Dragon Knight, and the other had heard the stories about the fight at the Loathly lower.
There was no reason not to turn into a dragon right here with Giles watching. The only problem was that of scaring the horses. He remembered how Gorp had acted when he had unexpectedly turned into a dragon on the way to Carolinus's. And Gorp had been used to him—although, admittedly, not used to him turning into a dragon.
"Giles," said Jim, as he tied up the bundle that would hold his food and drink, "for what I have to do now, I need to change myself into a dragon. I don't want to alarm the horses; so maybe we should leave them here and walk off some little distance before I make the change."
"Hah?" said Sir Giles. "Certainly they would not take kindly to your turning into a dragon a few feet from them. I think we should tie them securely to that dead tree yonder, so that they cannot pull loose, before you go off to change shape, as long as you plan to do so anywhere within their sight."
"You're quite right, Giles," Jim answered.
There were no living trees nearby, but the tree Giles had mentioned was a dead fragment which looked as if it had been struck by lightning. It stood not ten yards off down the road behind them. They fastened their horses securely, then walked off together through the knee-high, unkept grass of the fields; until they were a good hundred yards from the animals.
"This far away I ought not panic them," said Jim, halting at last.
"Can't pull loose, anyway," replied Giles. He watched as Jim stripped off his clothes; and took them from Jim. Giles made them up as a bundle with the rope that already held the food and drink.
"Tie all these things tight about my dragon neck once I make the change," said Jim. Giles nodded.
Standing clothesless, Jim wrote the equation on the inside of his skull, and was instantly a dragon.
"I vow!" said Giles, staring at him. "I'd thought myself prepared for your change, James; but I did not expect you to be quite so big a dragon."
"I don't know why I am," answered Jim from his dragon body, "unless it's got something to do with my size as a human. Will you tie that bundle tightly around my neck? Thanks. Then I'll be off."
Giles finished fastening the bundle to Jim's scaly neck.
"Is that tight enough, James?" he asked, stepping back out of the way.
"It couldn't be better," answered Jim. "Farewell temporarily, Giles. I'll look forward to seeing you soon."
"And I, you, James," answered Giles. "Godspeed!"
Jim sprang into the air, beating down with his wings; and almost instantly began to mount with that speed that had astonished him the first time he had tried to fly in a dragon body. Reaching a height where there was a thermal, an updraft of air, he soared in a circle for a moment, with wings outstretched extending his dragon's telescopic vision to locate the tiny figure of Giles far below. The figure waved. Jim waggled his wings.
Then he pumped his wings again, reaching for greater altitude. He had to climb some distance before he found a higher thermal and began his glide, following the feeling that was attracting him to whatever dragons there were in the vicinity.
As had happened on his flight with Secoh to Cliffside, he found himself responding with exhilaration to the pleasures of soaring. Certainly it seemed to him the most enjoyable way of travel that had ever been created. Again, he found himself making a mental note to get off by himself and do more such traveling.
The day was cloudless and was going to be unseasonably warm. Already, the temperature was rising rapidly. It was noticeable even at his present altitude. In fact, if it had not been for the breeze created by his own passage, he might have felt a little warmer than was comfortable. As it was, he gave himself over to the sheer joy of flight.
His mind wandered off on various unconnected issues. He thought of Angie back in England; and regretted that there was no way to send a letter to her with any certainty that it would reach her before his own return—if it reached her at all. Letters here were simply handed from one person to another until they reached their destination. Consequently, their reaching such a destination was often more luck than anything else. He thought about Giles; and how, in spite of the short knight's explosive temper and the single-mindedness he shared with Brian and just about every other such person Jim had met in this world, Giles was a very likable sort of character.
Partially, he told himself now, it was because the other had, along with the excessive temper, an equally excessive dose of the common trait here of being very open, direct, and immediate with his emotions. He, Brian, and others like them, were almost like children in this. They could be suddenly very happy, or suddenly very sad, or suddenly very outraged—and just as suddenly return to good temper again.
To Giles, the world was a never-ending series of interesting things. There were surprises at every turn. Not only that, but Giles expected it to be so. Anything could happen, from Giles'
s point of view.
It often happened that when Jim's mind was puttering along on something entirely different, the solution to an earlier puzzle would suddenly occur to him. It was as if the back of his mind chewed on the problem all the time; and finally delivered a solution.
Jim found himself thinking once more about Carolinus, and magic; and Carolinus's evident attempt to make him learn the magician's trade for himself.
The possible reason that occurred to him now was an extension of a thought that had crossed his mind, briefly, once before. Magic was not science but art. It turned into science only when it was adopted into the domain of common use and became universally understood. Like the sewing of furs into a garment, that Carolinus had used as an example in his lecture.
The fact that magic was an art and nothing but an art, went far to explain a great many things. For one thing, there was essentially no one particular magic, no one particular spell for any situation. Each magician reached into that available pool of energy that the Accounting Office kept track of, and fashioned out of nothing more than pure energy, a Magical solution to whatever problem he had in hand.
After all, what was art? Jim asked himself. He tried to think of a definition that would include writers, painters, actors, musicians, composers, sculptors… everyone who could possibly come under the umbrella of that word.
The answer had to be that art was a process. A development. Rather like the equationlike process Carolinus had suggested he envision on the inside of his forehead in order to change from dragon to human and back again.
Art, Jim told himself—a little surprised to find himself in such an intense philosophical vein—was a process, and whatever the process the artist had chosen to work with, it had to follow a certain pattern.
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