The Dragon in Lyonesse

by Gordon R. Dickson

  At those two times, these solitary wolves would join together with wagging tails and every other sign of friendship. Then, working together in teams, they would prey upon the caribou while they passed; and this alliance would last as long as the great herds moved by.

  A common resource drew them together. But what kind of common resource had drawn together all these here, now?

  He had asked that same kind of question about the Mackenzie wolves, at the time he heard about them; and his friend had said even animals of different species were capable of combining against a common enemy, or to defend a common resource. But there was no common resource here…

  He suddenly remembered what Merlin had said—"The animals share equally… They have their own link with the Old Magic, one we have never understood—but we understand that Lyonesse is theirs as much as ours."

  The Old Magic a resource? Crazy! No, perhaps… just perhaps—beside him the QB moved slightly; and it struck Jim that both the QB and the animals here could be waiting for him to come out of his mental laboratory and pay attention to them.

  An awkward realization. An awkward moment. "Look! Lions!" said Jim in a low voice to the QB, to signal his return to matters at hand.

  "Of course," answered the QB. "Is not the name of our land Lyonesse?"

  "Oh, yes. Of course."

  It was full day now, and the white sun shone directly on him in the open spot at the lowest, center point of the bowl. The unwavering eyes of all of them looked at him with the same, direct, unshielded, unblinking stare that the doe, the otters, and the young bears had used.

  There was silence for a long minute as he stood there; then a sort of general rustling sound, more like the sound of feet shifting than of vocal cords uttering.

  "They have looked at you," said the QB, beside him. "The trees have spoken for you to them and they find you good. They wait for you to speak."

  "What am I supposed to say?" muttered Jim. The animal eyes were once again like miniature spotlights steadily on him; and he felt like a fool. At least by now the wine was out of his head.

  "They want to know what they can do," said QB.

  "Do?" Jim tried to understand. "But what kind of thing do they want me to tell them about?"

  "They know the fighting for Lyonesse will come. The trees can do nothing. These are different. They want you to tell them how they can fight."

  Jim's reawakened mind leaned and slithered down a slope of possibilities. He tried to visualize a battle—an actual battle—for Lyonesse. A battle with the men he had seen in the camp on the Borderland—against whatever fighting force Lyonesse could raise. The Originals—even with their descendants helping—would be heavily outnumbered. That went almost without saying. But what could animals do against humans, in any case?

  Then, abruptly, his mental ground stopped being slippery. It became solid, level, and plain. In the tangle that was a medieval combat, from the small ones he had been in himself to the full-sized battles of one country against another, there were things that teeth and horns and hoofs might do.

  Some animals—if they were animals with a purpose—could even be dangerous to that most dangerous of attackers, the partnership of the armored knight, squire, or man-at-arms on his warhorse.

  But the odds would still be heavy against any animal, which would need luck to succeed in every case. It was not the sort of thing that these savage innocents should be asked to do—too much like sending men with machetes and knives against machine-gun fire, in his own world.

  "You'll tell them what I say?" Jim asked the QB.

  "The trees will tell them, in time, in any case," said the QB. "But if you like I will also tell them."

  "Good." Jim looked over the animal faces all but carpeting the open space and crowding the rim of the bowl. He spoke, raising his voice, although he knew his words by themselves would mean nothing to them.

  "Some of you know how dangerous an enemy a human on horseback with weapons can be. There's no need for you to face that kind of foe just to help. I'll tell the Originals and all the others I meet here of what a brave offer you've made. It will cheer them on. But I think you ought to think twice about helping."

  He stopped. The hundreds of animal eyes looked back at him without change. They said nothing. They did not move.

  "I asked the trees not to tell them what you said just now, Sir James," he heard the QB's voice beside him saying, "and I did not tell them myself. Forgive me, but you make a mistake. The lives of those here and all like them are lives of killing or being killed, all their days. They are not like you and other humans, who can afford those things called bravery or cowardice. It is simply that this is their land and those who come are not allowed here. They do not ask you for permission to fight. They only ask how they may do it."

  Jim winced internally. That phrase "you and other humans" struck deep. He had been with the QB long enough to come to think of him as one with Brian, Dafydd, and himself, only in strange shape. He had forgotten that it was the animal world a Questing Beast must belong to, when the chips were down. Not his world, or that of any other human. Not even Pellinore's, close as the two of them were.

  "All right," he said; and looked at the listeners again. He felt foolish. He was not used to giving speeches, and to begin now to give one to a silent audience of wild animals—He took a deep breath.

  "All right," he said loudly—startling himself in face of the complete silence of the faces looking at him.

  "Look—" he started again. "None of you are going to be able to win in the long run by going face-to-face with the mounted and armored men. But you don't have to do that to be useful. There are other things you can do. If they set up their tents someplace here in Lyonesse, and there's a Dark before the battle, some of you could gnaw through the tent ropes, so that their covering falls on them in the night and they can't see. They probably won't sleep the rest of the Dark before the battle." The silence continued.

  "For those of you who can venture on the field," Jim went on, "remember, a mounted man loses much of his dangerousness if his horse goes down—"

  He hesitated. Brian, like most knights, had a special place in his heart for horses. So, indeed, did Jim himself; though not to Brian's extent. But what he had in mind had to be suggested. It was probably the single most effective thing they could do. He braced himself.

  "—The horse's legs are the part of him you want to attack. Break or hurt a horse's leg badly enough and he'll fall—particularly if you hit him while he's moving. His rider is going to fall with him. You stoats and weasels might even think about attacking the rider's unarmored parts once he's down. Stags, you know you can outrun any horse in the short distance, even a horse that doesn't have the weight of an armored man on its back. Come up from the back, use your horns, and then turn and run away. Then come back in someplace else and do it again. Boars, I don't have to tell you how to use your tusks—on men or horses."

  He paused.

  "I don't really need to tell you how to fight best. You know that better than I do. But don't get carried away. Sometimes I'm a dragon; and as a dragon I get carried away. Even humans do that. Some of you may, too, once the fighting starts. Well, don't. Attack in darkness, or where they aren't expecting you, or when they wouldn't be looking in your direction."

  Jim hesitated. The silence in which they all listened was unnerving—as if they couldn't hear him, or weren't really listening to begin with.

  "But, above all," he went on desperately, "attack! Attack at the edges of the battle. You'll be most useful distracting and disturbing the enemy; and living to disturb them some more; so Lyonesse's own armored men can fight them with an advantage; and the Knights and you together, hopefully, can drive them back where they came from."

  He stopped again. He had no more to say; but it seemed to him a very lame way to finish. He stood staring at them and they stayed where they were, staring back.

  As the silence dragged out, Jim began to notice furry bodies loping up the slop
e and vanishing among the trees. Stags started to turn away as these passed. Jim felt an ugly hollowness in his stomach, in spite of his recent meal.

  They were all leaving now, with no acknowledgment, no evidence of a response to signal that anything he had told them could be useful.

  The stomach feeling deepened as he watched them leave. He did not know what he had expected; but anything would have been better than this voiceless turning away, as if he had been a complete disappointment—disagreement with what he had told them, even anger, would have been better than this—there was a faint rustle all around the amphitheater, as if of last winter's dead and blackened leaves being stirred by a breeze.

  "I believe them pleased with what you told them, Sir James," said the QB. Shocked, Jim stared at him, opened his mouth—then quickly rethought the words he had been about to say.

  "But you can't be sure."

  "Each will do what he or she wills, of course. But it is my mind that all who were here will be there when needed. However, come now. It is time we were returning, to go to the gathering place of the Originals."

  "All the animals…" Hob's voice murmured on Jim's shoulder in a tone of wonder, as they turned together to leave the amphitheater behind.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The Gathering Place of the Originals turned out to be something like an antique picnic ground. Tables and benches sat out in the open, surrounding a wooden structure, painted white—a kind of open pavilion, with roof and floor only, and a ring of pillars that held up the roof. Here, there were more picnic-style tables of all sizes, with stools and stiff-backed, wooden chairs. All of those Jim saw sitting at tables outside or inside the pavilion, sat without touching any chair back—in the same erect posture they would have shown on horseback.

  Brian, he noticed, was looking around hungrily. Awakened in time to eat at Pellinore's, he had chosen instead to sleep to the last minute. Now his nose lifted toward those tables with food and wine on them. Jim felt for him, remembering his own appetite for the fish pie and the wine at Pellinore's; but could think of no way to help him.

  "Do you chance to see the Descendant of Sir Dinedan we met once, on our way to the Gnarly cave?" Brian asked Jim, in a low voice. "Surely he would remember us and offer us a cup of wine—if not, indeed, we could offer it to him."

  There were some obvious Descendants among the Original Knights, moving around or standing attentively, almost like squires, waiting on some of the Originals present; but Jim recognized none of them.

  "I'm afraid not," Jim said.

  "Well, well," said Brian. "A man cannot always live in a castle. What do we now?

  "We continue to follow King Pellinore, Sir Brian " said the QB.

  They had emerged from the forest with their horses, all of them, including the philosophical sumpter horse. Jim felt a little uneasy. He would have liked a little time to get used to the surroundings and the Knights here; but Pellinore seemed to intend to ride right up into the pavilion.

  Suddenly, however, the tall King reined in his horse abruptly; and swung himself down out of his saddle as if he was no older than David. He was looking off beside the pavilion, down a leaf-shadowed glade, up which the figure of a younger Knight was coming toward him.

  It had seemed to Jim in that first second that Pellinore had intended to go toward the advancing man; but instead he merely stood, suddenly stiff and erect beside his saddle, overtopping even the head of his tall horse. He seemed braced, as if to face the shock of something that would call for all his inner strength. Touched with a sudden feeling of dread, Jim also dismounted; and Brian followed him.

  Jim took two steps forward to see if the expression on Pellinore's face could tell him anything; but it was still the same unyielding visage, the same iron expression. Behind him, Jim heard Brian being accosted by what must be one of the two Knights at an outdoor table they had just ridden past.

  "Sir James—" began the voice of the QB at Jim's elbow, in a low tone. But before it could continue, the approaching Knight had taken his last step toward Pellinore. Unlike nearly all of the Originals around them, who had come here wearing their knight's belts, but with nothing at them but the customary sheathed dagger, the new arrival was fully armed in chain mail, as were Pellinore, Jim, and Brian. They had come, in full arms and armor—Jim and Brian because it was their traveling costume, Pellinore in token of their errand.

  From the first instant of seeing the young man come toward them, the thought that this was Modred, showing up here after all, had clutched at Jim. But as he stared at the approaching figure, doubt began to creep in. The fact that this face was clean-shaven was unimportant. Modred could have discarded beard and mustache by this time.

  The QB's attention now seemed to be fully on Pellinore. Jim spoke very softly, under his breath.

  "Hob," he said, "could this have been the other man in Cumberland's tent, when you and the QB were outside it the first time? He would have had a beard and mustache then."

  "I don't know, my Lord," Hob said, also whispering, from his post behind Jim's head, where he was concealed by Jim's armor.

  Jim looked more closely. The clean-shaved face, which he could see in more detail now that it was nearer, was too open and frank to be the one he had half glimpsed in the shadows of the Borderland tent behind the Earl and Agatha. Also, though it and the body attached to it were half a head shorter than Pellinore, it had something like the same amazing breadth of shoulder and unconquerable attitude. And the face was smiling, as if in greeting.

  "It is good to see you, Sir Lamorack," said Pellinore harshly.

  "And good it is to see you, King Pellinore, my father," said the other Knight.

  "Are you well with God and man?"

  "Sir, to the best of my knowing, I am."

  "My sons were always good men and good Knights." There was still no emotion in Pellinore's voice; but he opened his arms. Sir Lamorack stepped into them—and it came to Jim that the younger man must be grateful for his armor as those long arms tightened so fiercely and strongly around him.

  "Come, my father," said Sir Lamorack softly, when the arms let go. "Let the two of us step aside and speak a while."

  They went off.

  Jim blinked his eyes, which had unaccountably begun to mist. Just in case it was the magic glasses that were to warn him of any sign of color seen in Lyonesse—he had almost forgotten he was wearing them—he took them off and looked at them. But they showed no difference; and when he put them back on, after a couple of quick dabs with a forefinger at the inner corners of his eyes, Lyonesse showed itself as black and white as it had when they were off.

  He became aware once more of Brian's voice behind him, in conversation with two other voices. He looked to his right, where the QB had been, but the QB was gone. He looked back and saw Brian standing, facing the table they had just passed, where the two Knights who had been there were also on their feet, and facing him.

  The two looked from Brian to Jim, curiously.

  "Ah," said Brian, following their gaze. "Allow me to name to you Sir James Eckert, oft called Sir Dragon, Baron de Bois de Malencontri et Riveroak. Sir James, may I name to you Sir Kay, foster brother to King Arthur; and this is Sir Bedivere."

  "Honored to meet you," said both of them; and Sir Kay added, "Sir Brian tells us you are also a magickian."

  "I am," said Jim. As a knight, manners should have obliged him to be modest. But as a magickian he was almost required to be arrogant. After all, magickians called everyone, including kings, by their christened name. Nor did they hesitate to tell Royalty off if necessary.

  "Hah!" said Sir Kay and Sir Bedivere, plainly impressed.

  They all sat down on stools at the table and Sir Bedivere filled metal wine cups with a dark wine for Brian and Jim. For the first time Jim looked closely at their hosts.

  Sir Kay was not a young man, but his round features gave him an appearance of near youthfulness. His bushy mustache seemed salt-and-peppered in this black-and-white land, wh
ich reinforced the effect; but if he was King Arthur's foster brother, he must therefore be close to the same age; and Arthur had been white-bearded toward the end of his life. But then, this was Lyonesse.

  Sir Bedivere had a face that could be any age.

  "My thanks to you, Sir Bedivere," said Jim, as the ranking member of his own twosome.

  "It honors me to be of service to you, Sir. You and Sir Brian are in Lyonesse because of this threat of an Evil called the Dark Powers?"

  "That's right," said Jim, tasting the wine, as politeness required, but taking only a small mouthful in view of the drinking he had done at his earlier meal. This wine was not bad.

  "We gather they are a thing to be feared," put in Sir Kay, "of the hardest and crudest of magicks. Would that be also your opinion, Sir?"

  "You could say that, Sir," said Jim. "But being Spirits only, anything they take, they cannot hold, being limited in this way as are all immaterial forces. As a result, it is only their creatures and their armed men that would need to be dealt with."

  "Hah!" said Sir Kay jovially. "No fear from that quarter. Do you not agree, Bedivere?"

  "I should certainly agree," said Bedivere. His was a plain face, but honest-looking in a remarkable degree. A face like that of a farmer who had found himself made a Knight by mistake; but was being the best Knight he could be now that he was one. "Yet I have a foreboding…"

  "And I would venture to agree with Sir Bedivere, Sir Kay," said Brian. "Not merely because of a foreboding, however. But because I have seen their army in the Borderland of the Drowned Land."

  "A large army, Sir?" asked Bedivere.

  The conversation was moving out of Jim's territory of expertise.

  "Between eight and twelve hundreds of lances."

  Brian, Jim realized, must have picked this information up with his more experienced eye, just while they had tried to walk inconspicuously through the camp on the way to its horse lines—before they were stopped. Jim, himself, had paid no attention to how many fighting men the camp had held.