Knighthood of the Dragon

by Chris Bunch

  "See how it turns," Dessau said. "See how it spins."

  "Ah do."

  "Now, don't talk," Dessau said. "Just watch the medallion, and listen to my voice."

  Dessau kept talking, about soft, gentle things, and always, always, the gold medallion he'd gotten from somewhere kept turning.

  Wolda looked quite alert.

  Hal felt himself getting sleepy, wondered how long Dessau would keep trying, wondered if Wolda had a godsdamned mind to hypnotize, got sleepier, and suddenly realized Wolda might not be going under, but he surely was.

  Kailas looked at the ceiling, afraid to move as the voice wove on, talking about home fires, with the rain and wind beating against the window panes, and a good meal warm inside, and the fire crackling, and then Hal got his shin kicked.

  He looked back down, and Wolda had his eyes closed, and a happy smile on his face.

  "Can you still hear me?" Dessau asked.

  "Aye."

  "Do you want to tell me some things?"

  "P'raps."

  "Do you want to tell me some things about Ungava?"

  "Do Ah have to? He's tryin' t' take me away frae m' fire."

  "I'll not let him, and soon I'll leave you alone to toast your bones. Ungava is a magician."

  "Aye."

  "An evil magician."

  "Aye."

  "He uses a spell to keep prisoners from being able to escape."

  "Aye. A secret spell."

  "But you've heard it."

  "Aye."

  "Would you like to tell it to me?"

  "You'll not let Ungava turn me int' a sea monsker?"

  "No."

  "Th' spell goes," and Wolda''s voice took on a singsong, and deepened, to match the Roche magician's:

  Spinning compass

  Bind, bind, hold, hold fast

  Swirl about with my wand

  There is no north

  You cannot see clear

  There is no south

  No east, no west

  All is fog

  All is lost.

  "An' he tap't wi' his damned wand afore in all directions, sprays wi' that evil shit, an' as far as Ah know, that's all."

  "Good," Dessau said. "Go sit by your fire."

  Wolda fell back into unconsciousness.

  Dessau motioned to Hal to follow him out of the cell.

  "Well," he said, "I guess I'm a real hypnotist.

  "I was hoping there'd be herbs, or something else," Dessau said, "that Ungava uses to lend the spell power. But there's nothing but that damned wand of his and whatever's in the atomizer.

  "I don't think it's just the words."

  "Try it," Hal said. Dessau handed him the tiny vial of oil, and Hal put a bit of it on his face. It stank as badly as he remembered.

  Dessau, face most skeptical, chanted the spell.

  Hal turned to the setting sun, knew that as west-northwest by knowledge, felt for north, found nothing.

  "No," he said. "You're right. It needs the wand. I hope nothing more."

  "So all we need to make the thing work is to steal Ungava's magic stick, we hope," Dessau said. "Something tells me that might be a bit of a challenge."

  Hal nodded, gloomily. Then an idea came.

  "Maybe not. You said that you can't make somebody do something he doesn't want to do."

  "Right," Dessau said. "At least, that's what I've read."

  "But what about something he might want to do, if he had the courage?"

  Hal explained.

  "Mmmh," Dessau said. "I'll give it a try. I just hope it works… and that our poor little fisherman in there doesn't get turned into a sea monster.

  "Although I've never seen any magician with that kind of power."

  * * * *

  The next day, Ungava the wizard was stalking through the prisoners' areas, peering about, looking for anything resembling an escape attempt.

  As always, he was flanked by his small prisoner aide, Wolda, carrying a bag of sorcerous implements and, in his other hand, Ungava's wand.

  They rounded a corner, and a prisoner cannoned into Ungava, sending him flying back into Wolda.

  Wolda fell heavily, the wand under him.

  Unexpectedly, it shattered like glass.

  Ungava shrieked like an impaled baboon, knelt over the broken remains of the wand.

  Wolda tried to help, chattering that it wasn't his fault, and please, please, don't transform him.

  Ungava ignored him, came to his feet, and started screaming at the prisoner, who'd been supposed to grab the wand and run, flattened against the wall as if being beaten.

  Ungava ran out of words, and stalked away, Wolda, carrying the bag and the bits of the wand, scuttling after him.

  Later that afternoon, he gave the bit of the wand he'd hidden to Kailas.

  * * * *

  "Let's see now," Dessau said. "You're properly oily.

  "Now we point at the four compass points with this little piece of whatever the hells it is… damned glad you drew the headings on the floor, since I can't tell direction any more than you can, and then…"

  And then he muttered the spell.

  It was if a fog had cleared.

  Hal knew north, south, the other directions, had a vision of a crude map, with the Zante River and the castle, and, a bit to the north, the welcoming ocean that led to the Chicor Straits and home.

  His eyes were moist.

  "It works," he managed.

  "Good," Dessau said. "Now, what about the rest of that oil?"

  "I'll give it to Hofei," Hal said. "There'll be other escapers after me. I hope."

  * * * *

  Hal saw the next escape in the making.

  He was finishing up his "diary," and enjoying a rare, sunny day, a nice breeze from off the river cooling the castle's hot stones.

  He heard a small crash, looked up.

  A slate had fallen from one of the turrets. Then he saw a hand, carefully taking other slates inside, until there was a sizeable hole in the turret.

  Other prisoners had seen the same thing, and Hal noted the eeriness—no one shouted, or did anything more than find a vantage point where he could unobtrusively watch whatever was happening.

  The hole grew, and then a prisoner clambered awkwardly out onto the roof.

  Hal recognized him as Goang, and thought for a moment the man was about to jump, suiciding down on to the flagstones of the courtyard below.

  Others must have had the same fear, for prisoners began moving toward the steps into that turret, hoping to stop Goang before he jumped.

  But Goang wasn't suicidal—at least, not directly.

  Two other prisoners handed something out to him, and he fitted them together.

  Hal saw that they were wings, made of paper, he guessed, glued onto thin lathes.

  The wings were curved back, like a swift's.

  Goang attached them to a harness he'd made, and Hal marveled at the amount of work the man must've gone through, first studying the birds until he understood their wings, then making his own.

  Goang braced, then jumped, and now there was a sound from the watching prisoners, something between a hiss of surprise and a gasp of fear.

  The wind caught Goang, and lifted him.

  Now a guard saw the flier, and shouted an alarm.

  Goang was pulling on lines that led to the front of his wings, forcing them down, and he dove at an angle.

  Hal figured he would just clear the castle walls, and then have a fair shot at being able to fly over the river.

  What Goang would do then, Hal couldn't think, since he saw no sign of the weapons, food or clothing Goang would need to evade the hunters and make his escape.

  The wind eddied, and Goang's left wing dipped.

  He was just over the wall when his wingtip caught a battlement.

  Instantly what had been a birdlike thing of grace and beauty, collapsed, and Goang was falling.

  But he was able to reach out at the last minute, and grab that
same battlement.

  He slipped, almost fell, then had a firm hold, and pulled himself up, onto the parapet, just as half a dozen guards had him.

  The bits of his bird machine were ripped apart, and Goang hauled off to the baron, and from there to a solitary cell.

  But his failure gave the prisoners a bit of hope, and something to talk about.

  Hal wondered why it had taken a nonflier to come up with this idea, decided he would think more about this device.

  But that was for the future.

  Now, he was finally ready to go.

  * * * *

  Within a few days, the story of what the Dragonmaster had been writing so laboriously was all over the castle.

  It was the story of his capture, and imprisonment, supposedly complete with details of Castle Mulde.

  Some said that Kailas was keeping this diary to stay sane, others for it to be used as evidence in the trial of Baron Patiala, after the war, "for surely the bastard has to be tried before we can hang him."

  * * * *

  Hofei whistled.

  "Now I understand why you refused to tell me your escape plan."

  Hal shrugged. "It was the only idea I could come up with."

  "But what happens if it fails, anywhere along the path?"

  "Then," Hal said, trying to sound nonchalant, "they'll hang me. Tell mother I died game."

  * * * *

  The guards burst into Hal's cell just before dawn.

  Very efficiently, they bundled him out of bed, and put him against the wall while they searched his meager possessions.

  Kailas noted that they deliberately behaved as if this were a blind search, and they "just happened" to come on the hollowed-out cot leg.

  Obviously Patiala had no intention of exposing the big mouth or traitor who'd passed the story about Kailas's manuscript along.

  The guards dragged out the manuscript and, whooping with glee, hauled Kailas off to one of the solitary cells.

  * * * *

  "One thing that has always pleasured me about life," Baron Patiala said, "is that villains will out."

  He reached out and tapped Hal's manuscript, lying on his desk.

  Hal tried to look like a not particularly bright villain, caught red-handed.

  "Not only did you have the cold-blooded ruthlessness to murder one of the queen's soldiers, but you were stupid enough to brag about it, even after you'd been warned both by Ky Yasin, Sir Suiyan Tutuila and myself that you were being watched, and would face prosecution for this capital offense as soon as adequate proof was amassed.

  "Truly, you played into our hands, and now you shall pay.

  "I have sent word of your idiotic behavior to Sir Suiyan and Ky Yasin, and that you will be escorted, on the morrow, from Castle Mulde to Carcaor, where you shall be court-martialed, as common law admits, and then punished, I hope to the fullest extent of the law.

  "I knew it was just a matter of time."

  * * * *

  Hal didn't know any of the guards detailed off for the escort.

  All he was permitted to take were the clothes he'd arrived in, now somewhat more worn in the months he'd been prisoner at Castle Mulde.

  The prisoners turned out to watch him leave.

  No one spoke, and few could meet his face.

  Most of them had heard the tale of Hal's stupidity, writing about what he'd done after escaping from the hospital, and thought while Kailas was most certainly brave, they agreed with Patiala, and considered Hal a fool.

  Ungava put the spell of the chains on, after the limber metal strips had been wound about his ankles and wrists. Hal felt them clasp him tightly.

  He was half-carried, hardly able to stagger, back down the hill, to where a boat waited.

  The warrant in charge of the escort laughed harshly as the boat was pushed away from the dock, and the guards started working the sweeps, driving the small craft back upriver.

  Hal looked once at Castle Mulde, and spat into the water.

  * * * *

  He waited until near dusk, just before the boat's commander would be looking for a place to beach the craft before dark.

  The boat had passed three fishing villages since leaving Castle Mulde.

  Then he knelt, and whispered the counterspell over his leg irons, hoping that Ungava hadn't been lying to Wolda when he said that spell could be worked by anyone.

  He hadn't been lying. The metal uncoiled like a snake, and clattered to the deck.

  Hal quickly whispered the spell again, near his manacles, and they, too, fell away.

  The clank was heard by a guard, some yards away.

  He spun, saw Hal, standing free, and his mouth fell open.

  Before he could shout, Hal kicked off his boots, dove off the boat, disappearing in a swirl.

  Then there were shouts, orders, and the boat spun in the current, coming to a halt as guards dropped their oars, strung bows, nocked arrows, and had spears ready for the cast.

  But there was nothing but the eddying, muddy waters of the Zante River to be seen.

  12

  Hal swam underwater as deeply and as far as he could, then came to the surface slowly, turning on his back, and letting only his mouth appear long enough to gulp air.

  Then he dove again, and kicked for the river bank.

  He had to surface for air twice more, the second time staying up long enough to look at the bank, and pick his landing place—where thick brush grew into the water.

  He surfaced in this thicket, and finally let himself look back at the boat.

  They were rowing in circles, still watching the water, waiting for either Hal or his body to surface.

  Hal slid out of the river, and crawled into the bush. On its far side, he came to his feet.

  Sooner rather than later, the Roche would be checking the shoreline, and he thought he'd rather not be there.

  Hal started downriver as fast as he could travel on bare feet. He'd deliberately left his boots off as much as possible over the last month, trying to harden his soles.

  But it hadn't done much good.

  By the time he'd walked a third of a league, he was starting to limp.

  And, as it grew darker, it was getting cold.

  Fall was definitely either here, or about to arrive.

  But he was free!

  That thought, and the sight of the first village, drove his aches away.

  He wanted to enter the village and beg a handout, but rather appreciated his head being attached to his neck.

  Also, this village, even if they didn't kill him for the reward, would be the first the Roche soldiers would go to, looking for additional searchers.

  Besides, the next village held his dream.

  He skirted the village, and went on.

  There was a rough cart track behind the village.

  Kailas knew he shouldn't use it, that he should be deep in the bush.

  But he figured that, with no alarm out yet, he'd most likely hear any oncomers before they saw him. As for the hunters that were his real fear—they'd be working the brush, since game animals quickly learned to avoid anything of man.

  It was well after dark, and both moons had risen when Hal came on the second village.

  He crept down to the water, and slid into it. It was very cold, and he tried not to shiver.

  Hal swam out, let the current take him for a bit, washing him past the outer palisade into the village's heart.

  He'd spotted, going upriver, several skiffs pulled up on shore.

  Hal swam hard for the bank, keeping his hands and feet below the surface.

  He came up on the bank in the middle of four boats.

  The village was still alive, with two fires in the squares, and most of the huts still lamp-lit.

  Hal wanted to grab the first boat, and pull away.

  But he made himself take a bit of time, and found one with an unstepped mast with a sail furled around it. None of the boats had oars in them, which he hadn't expected, and "his" boat had,
at least, a long pole.

  There was a locker in the bow, but he wasn't calm enough to see what it held.

  Instead, he crawled onshore to that boat's painter.

  Hal grinned. For the first time, he had a bit of luck.

  The painter was a bit frayed.

  Hal saw a jagged rock at water's edge, used it to saw the painter away.

  That was good. With luck, the boat's owner would find the end of his moorings unraveled, and curse his carelessness, never thinking of a thief.

  Especially not a dragon-riding thief.

  Hal went back into the water, and slowly eased the boat off the bank.

  It floated free.

  Hal looked around for any guards, sentries, afoot or on the walls, saw none.

  Perhaps they had magic wards set.

  He shuddered, preferring the thought that they were just careless.

  The current was pulling at the boat, and Hal let it take the craft, staying in the water and holding on to the stern.

  There were no shouts, outcries, but he waited until the village was round a bend before he clambered aboard.

  The boat rocked, and Hal almost went overboard. It would be just his luck to lose the boat and drown now.

  But he didn't.

  The boat was traveling smoothly downstream.

  Hal could relax for a moment, and in that moment he realized there was a chill wind coming upriver.

  He had no time to be cold.

  He went to the forward locker, opened it.

  There were some net floats, some bits of wood, rope, oakum for leaks, fishing lines, and the great discovery—a long, sharp, fish knife.

  Hal, armed, felt quite cheerful.

  Now, for that sail.

  He stepped the mast, and unfurled the sail.

  At that point, his luck ran out. The sail hadn't been raised in too long a time, and was mildewed, rotting. It tore apart at the first gust of wind.

  Probably just as well, at least for the moment, since Hal hadn't the slightest idea of how to tack back and forth in a river.

  He found and mounted the rudder, and let the river take him.

  Hal passed the third village at midnight, and there were no lights or other signs of life.

  * * * *

  Something loomed, rushing up at him. Hal thought he was being attacked by some kind of river monster, readied his knife.