The Dragon, the Earl ,and the Troll

by Gordon R. Dickson

  But it was a good quarter of an hour before Brian actually walked into the tent—a time during which Angie sat calmly and Jim fretted.

  "I did not have to speak out about a knight's duty to fight evil beings, after all," said Brian, as he passed through the front flap of the tent. "Carolinus had already put that idea into the heads of those there."

  "You see, Jim," said Angie, "I told you he was here to help us."

  "That must indeed be his purpose, Angela," said Brian. "He has been busy talking both to the Earl and to my Lord Bishop. The good Bishop believes no one should have to do with this unknown knight; and speaks darkly of commerce with the Evil One. Carolinus gave him the same answer you suggested, James, that it's a knight's duty to combat such ungodly things, as well as other evil-doers. The Earl, certes, had never a thought of doing anything else. He was talking of wanting to run a course with the Black Knight himself. Naturally, voices were raised immediately to beg him not to, reminding him of his noble station, his duty to his guests and other reasons."

  "But there are some knights who definitely will fight the Black Knight, aren't there?" said Jim.

  "No lack of them," said Brian. "However, the tourney has run late enough so that sext is already past. Cast a glance outside for yourself, James, and you will see the sun past full mid-day. Therefore it was decided there is only time for five knights to ride against the Black Knight; or else this last day's dinner—our last all together of this year—will be undone, counting the time that it will take all here to get back to the castle and dress before appearing in the Great Hall."

  "Sir Harimore is going to go first, then?" Angie asked.

  "Yes. He accepted my tale of Blanchard's lameness most courteously. But, no, Angela, I speak too quickly. He will ride, of course, but last rather than first. It was felt that if one of the other knights could unhorse the Black Knight, they should have their chance first. Indeed, I think none of them will have a chance. Harimore may, but it will depend on how he uses his lance. I believe he is not aware of somewhat that I have become aware of."

  "What's that?" asked Angie.

  "Oh, a mere trick of lance-work," said Brian lightly. "I will not tire you with the details, Lady."

  "It wouldn't tire me, Brian," said Angie. "But if it's something you want to keep to yourself, by all means do so."

  "Thank you, Angela," said Brian. "I believe I will. James, five knights have been chosen, as I say. I do not know who the first will be to joust with the Black Knight. John?"

  John Chester, who had been peering outside, turned about.

  "Yes, m'Lord?"

  "Has any pennon been brought out for the first knight to meet the Black Knight?"

  "Yes, m'Lord," said John Steward. "The arms upon it are of a sheaf of grain and a battle-ax."

  "Sir Murdock Tremaine," said Brian cheerfully. "A good spear; but relies more on the speed of his horse, than skill, in placing his point. But, James, we should be getting Mnrogar ready to come out again. They will sound a trumpet from the other tent shortly; for the pennon would not be there unless Sir Murdock was already inside and making himself ready."

  "Right!" said Jim.

  They got the boar-horse turned around, Mnrogar put on its back—and were ready just in time when the trumpet pealed a single note from the far end of the list. Ned Dunster, tabard and all and walking behind Angie riding the palfrey, led out the huge black animal with its rider, and positioned him properly at the near end of the list. Angie dismounted from her palfrey, put the spear in Mnrogar's hands, and the troll took it, laying it down carefully as he had been trained, under Carolinus's magic and Brian's teaching, properly across his saddle, with its business end pointing out over the barrier toward his opponent. Angie remounted and rode back toward the tent.

  "All right, Ned!" said Jim, through the tent flap.

  Ned put the trumpet to his lips and Jim produced a single magical note from it.

  Both knights sat their horses, waiting. Then the trumpet sounded again, and Sir Murdock on his horse hurtled forward. Mnrogar was a little slower getting started, but both he and the boar-horse were behaving properly when the two opponents came together.

  Sir Murdock's spear snapped in two pieces as they passed each other; but in spite of Mnrogar's lance being awkwardly aimed, so that it struck high on Sir Murdock's shield, it had enough force to send the knight flying off his horse. Mnrogar's spear, of course, disintegrated in the process into a spray of splinters, but that was unimportant.

  The boar-horse's momentum carried him on for about twenty yards. Then Mnrogar got him reined in, turned him about and rode him at a walk back to his own end of the list, completely ignoring Sir Murdock, lying unmoving on the ground, and Sir Murdock's horse, struggling back to its feet.

  Happily, attendants were running out from the tent at the far end; and after a few moments, Sir Murdock sat up under his own power, and with their help got to his feet. They had brought forward another, smaller horse, which he mounted and rode slowly back to the tent.

  "Clumsily, clumsily done!" said Brian, peering out a slit he had cut with his poniard in the back of the tent, where he and Jim had been looking out. "In the ordinary way, there would be questions among those in the stands who were experienced—that Sir Murdock should fly so lightly from his saddle, from a strike that high on his shield. But, with all this I will wager all those in the stands had their eye on Mnrogar, rather than poor Murdock. Probably no question will ever be made. Though, James, I myself wonder that so high and seemingly easy a touch should move a knight so strongly from his saddle."

  "Well," said Jim, "the mass—I mean the weight of Mnrogar and the boar-horse together may make a difference."

  "There's that, of course," said Brian. "And certes, the heavier knight and horse will ride down the lighter in open field—"

  Angie rode Brian's palfrey back into the tent, leading the boar-horse and Mnrogar upon it, perfectly silent and showing no sign of having been through any encounter at all; except that close up, the black paint of his shield showed some scratches. Not a gem there, however, was missing or loosened.

  "I must congratulate you, by the way" said Carolinus's voice unexpectedly inside Jim's head. "The troll and steed did very well indeed. I see evidence that you have been handling your magic well. That third note of the trumpet that one time from your herald was a masterpiece. Some day you must tell me where you found it."

  "Carolinus!" said Jim, out loud without thinking. Angie and Brian turned their faces inquiringly toward him.

  "I was just wishing I could get in touch with him, that's all," said Jim hastily. "Pay no attention." They turned back to the matter of getting Mnrogar to dismount and getting the boar-horse turned around so that he would be ready to go out without delay when the next trumpet call sounded for a joust.

  "Tut-tut" said Carolinus. "You should come up with better excuses than that, James. But, as I was about to say, while you've done very well with your magic, it's still somewhat rough around the edges. Definitely C-class—but rough. Practice, James, as I've always told you. Practice is the thing!"

  It was not practice, Jim thought rebelliously, that had brought him to this. It had been his own ideas and imagination. Unless simply using magic itself could be considered practice.

  "Anyway, I'm glad you got in touch with me, Carolinus" he thought. I've badly needed to talk to you—"

  "Not now, my lad," interrupted Carolinus. "I've just called you to give you a small warning. Both the troll and the boar are doing very well indeed; and they should continue doing well. But I should put you on guard that any kind of emotional shock, such as might follow if one or the other of them was actually pierced or otherwise hurt by an opponent's spear, could bring them out of whatever magic either you or I have put on them. I just thought I'd warn you."

  "What can I do about it?" asked Jim.

  But there was no answer. Carolinus evidently had disconnected for the moment.

  Chapter 37

  Sir Ba
rtholomew de Grace was waiting to collide with Mnrogar at any moment now.

  Brian had cheerfully lengthened the slit he had cut in the wall of the tent, and spread it apart so that he could look out at almost the full length of the list where the two contestants would come together. At the far end of the barrier Sir Bartholomew had just been handed his jousting spear; and right outside the large round tent at this end, Angie was performing the same office for Mnrogar.

  Once more, the troll took his spear in completely indifferent, automatic fashion, laid it in position, and sat indifferently waiting for the trumpet that would start him on his way.

  Jim abandoned the small opened seam through which he had been watching Mnrogar being readied, and went over to join Brian at the cut in the tent wall. Brian companionably spread the cut and gave Jim the left hand side of the cut cloth to pull even wider if he wished. Jim joined him at looking at the scene.

  Sir Bartholomew was fully in view. Mnrogar was for the moment out of sight. But then the trumpet from the stands sounded once more, and he burst into view. The black boar-horse was already moving from a canter into a gallop, and Sir Bartholomew was approaching from the other end of the list; if not with the all-out speed displayed by the troll's previous opponent, at least clearly at the limits of what his war horse found best to do. He was still holding his lance loosely, so that the point would not waver up and down. He would grasp it firmly and tense up only at the moment immediately before the impact. But Mnrogar had gradually learned this skill, also.

  "A steadier man and a more seasoned one than the last, Sir Bartholomew," observed Brian, without taking his eyes off the lists. "I had rather have him by my side in an advance across the open field than many another. Though not outstanding at jousts—"

  He did not have time to finish, for at that moment the two charging knights met with the usual crash and breaking of spears.

  For a wonder, Mnrogar's spear had taken Sir Bartholomew properly and squarely right in the center of his shield; and like the rider before him, Sir Bartholomew soared from his saddle and fell to earth, to lie still. As before, Mnrogar needed some twenty or thirty yards to pull the boar-horse to a stop and turn it. Then he rode back, again without so much as a glance for his fallen former opponent.

  There had been a roar of anger from the crowd, when Sir Murdock had been so thrown down from his horse. It came again now, but mixed with a certain amount of groaning.

  Whether these simply signaled dismay at Sir Bartholomew's downfall or at the force with which he had been driven from his saddle, Jim could not tell. In any case, Mnrogar rode back to his end of the list, and Angie led him and the boar-horse back into the tent—the boar-horse still panting and inclined to be a little excited, in spite of the magic Carolinus had used on it, but Mnrogar as indifferent as if he had merely been digging himself a new den. Once in the tent Mnrogar restrained the steed with brute force on the reins. He climbed off as before, squatted on the ground, took off his helm and sat staring at nothing.

  "I am almost shamed," said Brian, in a thoughtful voice, "to have had a hand in so easy an overthrow of two such good knights, even though neither one could be called great spears. It is his weight and the weight of his mount, as you said, James, that gives this troll such an advantage. Indeed, if I were to stand aside and judge, knowing what I do, I would have to say that those were foul wins, achieved by unworthy ways."

  Brian's tone was not markedly emotional; but Jim caught in his voice the clear signal of self-accusation.

  "It's for a good end, Brian, remember," he said.

  "Oh, yes. I tell myself that, too," said Brian. "But still I would there had been another way to achieve it—or a better end to strive for."

  Jim glanced at Mnrogar, on the tent floor; but the troll seemed as indifferent to what they were saying as he had been to his fallen opponents.

  Brian's glance had followed Jim's.

  "But of course that means nothing to him," said Brian grimly. "To such as he, winning a joust is like a man chopping down a tree. A necessary labor, no more. He has no concept of honor and courage."

  "It's kind of unfair to expect it of him, don't you think, Brian?" said Jim. He had not thought to find himself defending the troll. But ever since he had seen Mnrogar's wild display of emotion at the thought of losing what he had fought to keep for nearly two thousand years—his territory—and the humanlike tears where he would never have believed he would see them, he could not help but credit the troll with feelings. "He may respond in the same way—only to other things to which we would attach no importance."

  Brian looked away from the troll.

  "No doubt you are right, James," he said, "but I have been on the losing side too many times, during the years in which I was learning the art of the lance, to search for what those things might be."

  A trumpet pealed once, suddenly, from the direction of the tent at the other end of the list.

  "Why, here's something less than honorable from the other side, also," said Brian, raising his head sharply. "Another opponent so soon? They are of purpose following too quickly one on another, so that the next rider may take him when both he and his steed are winded, and weary from their last passage at arms. I advise you delay our return trumpet as long as you feel necessary, James. It will serve them right, those in the stands, to sit on their hands awhile and keep them warm while the troll and his horse get back to normal breath and strength."

  "I don't think it's necessary, Brian," said Jim, looking from Mnrogar to the boar-horse. "Mnrogar acts as if he'd been out for a Sunday walk; and I think if that boar-horse was back in his normal shape and mind, he'd be tearing up not only us but the tent and everything within view, because he hasn't calmed down from the last charge down the list, let alone the one before. It's only magic that's keeping him quiet enough to be in the tent with us, at all."

  "It just may be you're right," said Brian, staring at the black steed. "A normal horse would be sweating and snorting and wild-eyed after such a charge. This one is only a little fractious, and shivers a bit from time to time. Still, I would counsel that you wait a while before making any move. The next opponent must wait until the troll is out and ready, in any case."

  "This is something that you understand well and I don't, Brian," Jim said. "But why wait at all? Judging from the way he handled his first two opponents, Mnrogar isn't going to have any trouble—"

  "Never you think it, James!" said Brian. "The best lance in the world can be undone by some little small thing that is unexpected. An error, an oversight, an act of God—what will you?"

  "Well, of course that makes sense," said Jim. "I was just thinking it would be impressive if Mnrogar went out there, even with this short notice, and had no trouble with the next knight at all."

  "If he did," said Brian, "perhaps. But as I have said, the last two were not great lances and there are always those things I just mentioned, to change any certainty of victory into something else. But it is never wise to pass up any advantage you may honorably gain. Mischance is always the reason when some unknown is victorious over a champion. The first time after I had been jousting for only a year or so, it chanced that I won over a knight of renown in one bout; and thought immediately that I now knew all that was needed to be known. Fool that I was, I had overlooked the fact that some small mischance on his part might have given me an advantage. So the next time we met, I faced him with confidence and, certes, he swept me from my saddle as if I had been a feather. As for other, more solid reasons, if you wish I can give you two."

  "What are they?" said Jim.

  "First," said Brian, "if you send Mnrogar out, without waiting a due time, you will be playing the game the way they want it, rather than as we do. They may crowd yet the fourth knight upon your troll even more quickly, sure that they have him weakened by this tactic; and by next time he may be. And you dare not let him rest then, or they will be sure of it. But by not letting yourself be pushed now, in this manner, you send the message that you are a
ware of what they are trying and view it with contempt."

  "I see," said Jim.

  "Secondly," went on Brian, "by waiting you will also give the impression that our champion here and his horse needed the extra rest; and therefore may indeed now be weaker—which could lead to over-confidence in the upcoming jousters—and you will remember his last is to be Sir Harimore, the most dangerous, with whom the troll will need all the advantage he can get. Better you lead them into error where they intended to lead you into such. On both points do you gain. As I say, James, overlook no advantage, no matter how small. It may be needed."

  "It's a good thought," said Jim. "All right, we'll wait."

  "And meanwhile," said Brian, sitting down at the table, "you and I can have a pleasant cup of wine together with Lady Angela."

  "Not for me, I'm afraid, Brian," said Angie, already seated at the table.

  "It will warm you, Lady," said Brian.

  "Thank you," said Angie. "But I'm quite warm already. I believe I will decline."

  They sat and talked. But Jim estimated that it was no more than fifteen minutes before Brian emptied the last of what he had put in his cup and stood up from the table.

  "I would judge now would be a good time for Mnrogar to ride out," he said. "Waiting is a good thing, but we don't want to overdo it."

  Matters were set in hand accordingly. Jim and Brian watched through the slit in the tent side, while Mnrogar and his opponent waited for the trumpet that would set them in motion against other.

  "Who is this now?" asked Jim, trying to peer at the coat of arms on the pennant that the cold breeze was rippling almost directly away from him.

  "Sir Reginald Burgh," said Brian. "He is a Northumbrian knight, like Giles, though from the other end of the Border—what is this? Look, James! Did you notice that when his charger moved its rump to give us a little more of a side view, Sir Reginald's corselet showed itself half-unlaced on one side, at least. How could a mistake like that happen? I wonder if—"