At dawn, they returned to the brickyard. A few workers sat yawning around a smoldering firepit in the yard, sharing a jug and a loaf of bread, and rubbing their hands briskly over the fire’s dim heat. They nodded as Hal passed. The oldest looked him straight in the eye and touched his cap respectfully, then made as if he was only adjusting the fit.
Hal left Erde in the barn and returned to the streets, saying there was something he’d sensed, something stirring that even his few sources wouldn’t talk about. He promised to be back soon with more news and breakfast. The dragon welcomed her gladly, complaining of particularly vivid nightmares. When she lay down with him to rest, the voice of the Summoner was immediately ringing in her ears.
* * *
She woke at mid-morning to the sound of Hal sharpening his sword. When he heard her stir, he laid his weapon down and went out, returning with fresh bread and a small bowl of soup still hot from the brick makers’ fire. “It’s all they could spare—there wasn’t much to go around, but at least it’ll warm your stomach.” He’d stripped down to his red jerkin and buckled over it the leather breastplate he’d brought from Deep Moor. Beads of moisture dotted his shoulders. “Dress warmly, milady. It’s snowing out there.”
She blinked at him, but actually, the mad weather had ceased to surprise her. It had come to seem an appropriate metaphor for the state of the world. The broth was watery and its contents well past their prime but she wolfed it down appreciatively, meanwhile rehearsing her memory of the broken rooftop and the market square.
“Not much other news to be had, bad or good, though I swear there’s something going on that they’re not telling me.” Hal went back to work on his sword, his tense aura of anticipation touched with dry amusement “I’m glad you’re not one of those anxious types who can’t eat before a battle.”
A battle. She hadn’t thought about it that way, but then, it was not for nothing that the knight was honing the edge of his already well-sharpened blade. They were about to drop into the middle of a town square full of white-robes and soldiers, and snatch away the reason for the gathering. Erde decided to get nervous.
* * *
The first leg of the journey went well, though Erde worried for the strength of the joists as the dragon’s full weight settled onto the attic floor. The roof was deserted, dusted with a fine layer of wet snow. Earth stilled immediately and vanished. Hal and Erde ducked behind the charred front facade and peered over the edge of the stone parapet.
Their view of the square and the scaffold was unobstructed.
“You’d think it was May Festival,” grumbled Hal disgustedly. “Pennants and banners, silk drapings on the viewing stand, everyone decked out in their most colorful best. But then there’s this snow.” He glanced at the lowering sky. Huge black clouds were bundling on the western horizon. “Or maybe something worse.”
The square was full—men, women, and children, thickly wrapped against the sudden cold—but strangely hushed for so great a number crowded into one space. Even at a distance, Erde could see their faces were pale and tired, their mouths tight, their eyes narrow and anxious. A few stragglers were still arriving, escorted by small parties of foot-soldiers.
“A command performance,” Hal noted bitterly. “Every able body left in town.” He canvased the crowd, chewing his lip. “Not a lot of swords out there, though. A few of Köthen’s personal guard on foot, the rest holding the gates. I guess he’s feeling confident. Fine. So much the better for us. Though if I were him, I wouldn’t bring Fra Guill into my town without the men to stand against him. I wonder if he’s actually yet met the man face-to-face. He might not be so eager to . . . Ah, here we go!” He pointed diagonally across the square. “Speak of the Devil, and lo . . .”
Brother Guillemo made his entrance from the side of the square opposite the cathedral, a long stately progress on foot through the crowd with his phalanx of hooded white-robes in lock-step behind him. The throng drew away from him as he approached, like the Red Sea parting. As he drew near the scaffold, he glanced up at the sky, and Erde saw him brush snow from his robe. In his wake came a small party of armed horsemen wearing the black and gold of Tor Alte. To see her family crest and colors again was like a shock of ice water thrown full in her face. Erde ducked behind the parapet as she recognized the rider in the lead, her father decked out in his baronial finest.
My father! My father is here in Erfurt! She didn’t want him there, didn’t want to see him. Seeing him made her feel like a child again, yet she had to stare at him, his broad velvet-swathed chest, his ruddy face and prematurely silver hair. Perhaps seeing him would repair the gaps in her memory of those last days at Tor Alte. But there came no lightning bolt or revelation. It was only him, her father as she remembered him, though seeming a bit thinner, less robust. But perhaps that was only the effect of distance, diminishing him in her eyes. She was sure that no one else in the square could see beneath his show and swagger to the anxiety beneath. Josef von Alte. Her father. She had thought she would never see him again, yet here he was in Erfurt, her past and present lives commingling for the first time. Her old self-image, the one he’d helped form with his rage and his constant challenge, bubbled to the surface like air out of melting ice. Her newfound confidence drained away. She cringed against Hal’s side, shaking uncontrollably.
“Easy, girl,” Hal murmured. “They’re only men. As mortal as any of us.”
Erde wished she could snap back at him: But one of them is my father!
“Can’t let them rattle you.” The knight had put his nerves aside. The nearer it was to the moment of truth, the cooler he became. Erde drank up his calm like a draught of wine and let it soothe her. Then she felt his body tighten. “Here now, girl. Get up and pay attention. Here comes Margit.”
The witch-cart came from the opposite corner, drawn by four foot-soldiers, blazoned in blue and yellow. They followed a single rider, a stocky bearded man, blond and bareheaded but wearing darkly glimmering mail beneath his tunic. He wore no other ornament but his own blue and yellow crest. His sheathed sword hung on the pommel of his cloth-draped saddle. He carried his feathered helm in the crook of his arm, clasped in his mailed fist.
Hal pointed. “That’s Köthen in the lead, looking the fine figure of a man as usual and doing his humble act.”
She thought Hal stared at Köthen with a particular intensity, perhaps giving him special study as the one clearly in charge. And this in itself was interesting, because Baron Köthen was much younger than she’d expected, barely into his thirties, making him at least ten years her father’s junior, which she knew must be particularly annoying to Josef von Alte. Plus, Köthen was impressive, even handsome in a coarse, worldly sort of way. Square-jawed and serious, he looked like a leader. Erde decided that for all his youth, Köthen could easily eat her father alive. She worried for Josef, despite all he’d done to her. And despite the way he stared so obviously at the woman in the witch-cart. Köthen hardly gave her a glance, though she wore the usual clinging white shift, sure to arouse the lust and envy of the men, and the pity and envy of the women. Erde recognized the twins’ red hair and slim, muscular build. She wondered if these witch-hunting men ever considered it worthwhile to burn a woman who wasn’t beautiful.
Köthen and Brother Guillemo met in the middle of the square, in front of the scaffold. Josef von Alte reined in some yards away. Both riders dismounted and bowed to the white-robed priest, then submitted to having their hands joined by him with great ceremony. Köthen stood back as soon as his hand was released.
“Ah, good.” Hal’s grin was feral. “They hate each other. That may prove useful. Now. We should get her while they’re taking her up the steps, which could be any minute now. Are you ready?”
Erde nodded, though there seemed to be a lot of men and horses in the way. Plus her father, so close . . .
“Alert the Dragon, then.”
She tore her eyes away from the square to concentrate on the dragon, but Earth was already prepared.
He’d found a hiding place that provided a view of the scaffold. One corner of it was obscured by a charred rafter slung with canvas, but Erde could offer detail where it was lacking. And this time, she did not have to provide motivation. For the moment, not a thought was in his mind about the Summoner or his own particular quest. A subtle outrage was brewing in the dragon’s depths. His sense of justice was awakening.
“Köthen’s signaled his men to take her out of the cart.” Hal drew his sword and reached for Erde’s hand. “Listen carefully, girl, and do exactly as I say. Stay close to the Dragon. If they get me, don’t worry about Margit. You get out of there. You have more important things to do, you and him. Go back to Deep Moor. They’ll understand.” His grip tightened, then released. “All right. Ready?”
Erde gathered the image in her mind and joined forces with the dragon. Poised together, they awaited Hal’s signal.
“And . . . WAIT! Wait. Don’t do anything yet.”
There was a commotion in the square. Shouts and the sharp ringing of hooves on the paving stones. Erde heard voices crying Köthen’s name. She whirled back to the parapet. Hal had risen to his feet and she hauled him back down again. He shook her free but stayed low, peering over the edge, shivering oddly. Erde worried until she realized he was laughing. “I think . . . yes! It’s our friends from the forest! Come hightailing back to report there’s a dragon on the loose! You’ve got to see this!”
Erde looked. Baron Köthen was surrounded by frantic horsemen, all talking at once and jabbing their fingers in the direction from which they’d come. Brother Guillemo listened from the bottom step of the scaffold. His expression, even from fifty yards away, was a visible contest between terror and unholy glee.
Köthen bellowed for silence. The horsemen shut up immediately, but for one tardy one, whose last words floated like an echo into the hush that fell over the square.
“. . . dragon, my lord!”
The crowd leaned forward as if pulled by a string.
The men dismounted and made a try at being orderly. Josef von Alte stalked over to Köthen to hear the details, but Brother Guillemo whirled and raced to the top of the scaffold.
“A sign!” he shouted. “A sign, oh my people! These men have brought us a true sign!”
Half in, half out of the witch-cart, Margit also listened. She stood nearly forgotten, watched by one guard and bound only by the cord that tied her hands in front of her. The throng was riveted on Guillemo as he pounded back and forth across the platform, warming to his tirade. The pale noon light dimmed as the dark clouds bunching at the horizon broke loose and sped closer. Guillemo took his cue.
“See how the heavens darken! The sun itself, God’s given holy light, will be swallowed up! This is no natural occurrence! The forces of evil are gathering, oh my people, gathering around us now!”
“Now would really be the time to do it,” muttered Hal.
And then the priest, who possessed a panoramic view over the heads of the crowd, stopped dead in the middle of a shouted sentence and stared, his face gone slack and pale.
Hal elbowed Erde hard and pointed. “Look! Over there!”
A new horseman had entered the square, a lone armored knight on a huge golden horse. His helm and breastplate gleamed with gold chasing. A closed visor concealed his face. The crowd gasped and murmured and opened a wide path for him as if expecting some new report of sorcery, perhaps even the sorcerer himself. And he did look magical, Erde thought. As he bore down on the center of the square, his sword raised above his head, she saw that his pure white tunic was blazoned in brilliant red, in the sign of a dragon.
“It’s him!” Hal exclaimed. “I’ll bet it’s him! Who else could it be? He’s decided to make the challenge official, the reckless sonofabitch! Got a real taste for theatrics! Esther didn’t say her Friend was lunatic as well as idealistic!”
Erde stared as the golden knight galloped across the square, scattering what little resistance stood in his way. She was remembering the visored, shining knight in Earth’s dream on the night of the earthquake. Could the dragon have dreamed of the Friend?
On the scaffold, the priest screamed “No! No! No!” and waved his arms as if he could make this sudden and inconvenient apparition disappear.
Hal gripped Erde’s shoulder. “Wait, Jesus, he’s coming for Margit! The man’s insane. How did he get in, with Köthen blocking the gates?” He paused for breath, considering. “And how the hell is he going to get out?”
Before the men at the scaffold knew what was happening, the horseman had thundered into their midst. The soldiers were dumbstruck. Cursing, Baron Köthen dove at the man nearest him to grab his sword and shove him aside. Josef van Alte ran for his horse, shouting at his men to attack. Above, the apoplectic priest finally found words other than his helpless repeated denial of what was clearly a reality. He called for a sword. He raced about on the platform but did not venture down the stairs. The white-robes racing to respond and protect him blocked both von Alte’s path and Köthen’s. The two barons bellowed in frustration as the golden knight pulled up at the witch-cart, sliced the ropes binding Margit’s ready, outstretched wrists, sheathed his sword, and scooped her up and onto the back of his saddle in a single unbroken motion.
“Bravo, lad!” whispered Hal. “Done before Köthen had a weapon to hand! I like this madman!”
The knight spurred his horse forward with a victorious whoop. The crowd’s roar was ambiguous, but they cleared an escape route straight out of the square, then closed behind him, a few of them seeming to give chase.
“Bar the gates!” Köthen’s shout echoed like drumbeats around the square, though he already had men posted everywhere. “Not a soul in or out!”
Still alone on the scaffold, Brother Guillemo ceased his screeching and fell to his knees, his arms outstretched in an apparent trance of prayer. The white-robes finally reaching him stood back in chagrin, then formed a circle around him, their swords at ready.
Hal leaped to his feet, not caring who spotted him. “There he goes, out of the square! And the crowd’s blocking the pursuit! But can they get him past the gates?” He snatched at Erde’s arm, already on the move. “Quick! Back to the barn! He may need our help!”
Help? The streets would be crawling with Köthen’s men, and her father’s. Erde had no idea what help Hal thought they could be, or how he even planned to find Margit’s miraculous rescuer. Maybe he didn’t need their help. If dragons could exist, why not magical knights? But she was eager enough to be away from their vulnerable position on the rooftop. She alerted the dragon and helped him image the brickyard.
* * *
The dragon was precise. He materialized within the same square footage in the barn from which he had left. The she-goat emerged from hiding in the straw and did her grave little dance of welcome. Erde made sure to praise the dragon effusively. Praise so improved his mood and his confidence, especially now that he was hinting at being hungry again, after all this work. She told him a meal was a hopeless notion for a while, and the best thing to do was to take a nap and not think about it. He agreed, but not happily.
Hal sped off into the courtyard the moment his head cleared. The wind gusted through the open doors, delivering little flurries of snow. Shivering, Erde went to close the doors, then peered through the center crack. Hal was slumped at the firepit with the old man who’d shown him such respect, warming his hands over the dying embers. Their conversation was slow, unanimated, like two habituated cronies. She thought how casual it would look to the idle passerby, if there was such a person left in Erfurt. The old man had a dusting of snow on his cap and shoulders. She wondered why he hadn’t retreated indoors or, more curious still, why he wasn’t with the crowd in the market square. But watching him with Hal, she understood he’d been keeping an unofficial eye on the barn. Soon Hal rose, nodding, from his crouch and headed her way. He slowed as the sound of horsemen approached. From the barn, Erde could not see the passage under a second story that allowed ac
cess to the courtyard from the street, but she heard the clatter pass by in a hurry and breathed a sigh of relief. Hal sprinted for the doors.
“It’s as I suspected,” he whispered hastily as he shut the doors behind him. “The partisans got him in, and they plan to get him out . . . with Margit. I told old Ralf they didn’t stand a chance with all that combined force after them, but that I did.” He paced over to the sleeping dragon and regarded him with avid satisfaction. “I said if they’d bring the pair of them to me, I could get them out.” He came back and sat down beside her. “I don’t know if he believed me, or why he even should, but he said he’d carry the message. Of course I didn’t want to tell him exactly how I could get them out, so we’ll see. It depends on how desperate they get.” He looked down, pushing straw around with the toe of his boot. “And on how much faith these diminishing royalists still have in an old King’s Knight.”
They waited, and no message came. Out in the street, horsemen came and went. Hal sharpened his sword some more, halting abruptly to listen each time the mule made an unusual sound outside the door. He replayed the events in the market square over and over, musing on the identity of the mysterious knight.
“He has the king’s own stature, I’ll say that much,” he muttered at one point.
Erde didn’t know how he could tell what the man looked like, under all that concealing armor. But he knew the king, and she didn’t. Plus she supposed that men of war understood such things.
Growing restive after a while, Hal went out again to talk to the old man he’d called Ralf. He came back dispiritedly. “He says he passed the word along. He also says Köthen’s men are searching the town door by door, and that we ought to look to our own safety, as they’ll no doubt be here before long.” Hal slapped his hand irritably against his thigh. “I didn’t want to leave without her.”
The Book of Earth Page 30
