Galen Beknighted h2-3

by Michael Williams

  From what I knew of Ramiro, one whiling would lead to another. The road would lengthen meal after meal, our travels slowing to a gorged crawl westward. We would be on the road a month, during a journey that should take all of three days.

  "Why don't we go on a little more, sir?" I asked graciously, trying to slip a note of command into my voice. The rain seemed to subside as I spoke, and I caught myself almost shouting into Ramiro's ear, shouting into the quiet of softer rainfall and the wet hoof splatter of the horses behind us.

  Ramiro reined in his big steed and looked at me slyly from under the drooped corner of that extinct hat.

  "I mean… there's time aplenty this evening. For food. For fellowship. Even a warm fire then, sir, when we could all settle down to a good hearty supper among friends," I explained.

  "That tree there is as good as any for stopping," he replied cheerily, as though my suggestion had been so much rainfall, brushed off readily into the mud beneath him.

  "But, Sir Ra-" I began. The big stallion turned and cantered toward a gnarled old vallenwood. Oliver followed suit, as did Alfric behind him.

  Dannelle, with scarcely a glance in my direction, followed the rest of them.

  The rain picked up again, and with it a chilling wind for the summertime, borne out of the mountains and carrying with it the whiff of icy peaks and evergreen and thin air. But despite its freshness, it was cold, settling on me like a sudden shift in the seasons.

  I was afraid for a moment then.

  Things were tumbling rapidly out of my control.

  I reined Lily toward the shelter and the others.

  Whatever lay buried in Ramiro's provisions, one could trust it was not dried fruit or jerky. The big Knight drew an enormous ham from a sailcloth bag on the packhorse. Several loaves of bread followed, and two bottles of wine-a vintage no doubt pinched from Bayard's wine cellar with the sure knowledge that the host, who so seldom drank from it, would go years without missing it.

  It was there that I heard Dannelle's story, told to us all between mouthfuls of ham and bread.

  It was, as I had guessed it would be, a tale of gender imprisonment.

  The three of us-Ramiro, Alfric, and I-rivaled each other to seem even more sympathetic to Dannelle's misfortunes, even more concerned and outraged when she complained of her mistreatment at the hands of a forbidding male world.

  Respect and honesty were, as always, excellent disguises.

  So we wrinkled our brows with concern, brimmed with sensitivity, and, most importantly, interrupted Dannelle only rarely as she told about her rough week at the hands of her uncle, and how his restrictions had provoked an onslaught of tantrum-throwing and servant abuse never seen before in Castle di Caela.

  "Things had reached a real impasse between me and Sir Robert," Dannelle began. "You see, I wanted permission to ride Carnifex, which he was not about to let a girl attempt."

  Alfric and I looked at one another with alarm. My brother emitted a low whistle. Carnifex, you see, was a terrible half-wild stallion, a gift of some godforsaken nomad chief to Sir Robert five years back. The horse was nearly ten now, and no more docile or ridable than he had been as a colt. Sir Robert kept him as a huge, unmanageable trophy, a consumer of oats and, occasionally, grooms.

  "The first time I asked," Dannelle continued, "I sidled up to him like we all sidle-said my 'yes, sirs' and set the matter aside for a month. Then I returned and used the old strategy Enid perfected while Uncle still ran things at the castle."

  "Told him that he had approved it the last time you spoke?" Ramiro asked.

  "Of course. It had always worked before," she explained. "But of course this was the time he picked to pay attention, and when he saw what I was doing… well, he threatened me, Galen.

  "He told me that a few weeks of doing 'women's work' would remove all notions of riding Carnifex from what he called my 'pretty little head.' "

  I smothered a smile. Of all the Solamnic Knights who were mired deep in backwardness when it came to the subject of what women could and couldn't do, Sir Robert was mired the deepest. For years, he had kept these sentiments in check, mainly because the women he dealt with directly were all di Caelas and all completely impossible to govern or even advise. But now, his duties as lord of the castle set aside, Sir Robert was saying what he damned well pleased, and I knew firsthand that he damned well pleased to offend just about everyone.

  What Sir Robert considered "woman's work" would be just about anything the old coot found distasteful.

  Dannelle looked long at me. I remained expressionless.

  She continued.

  "He says to me, 'Niece'-he forgets my name when he's angry-'Niece, it seems to me that you're in some need of respecting a proper tour of duty about this castle, what with two dozen servants to fluff up your circumstances every time something ill suits you.'

  "Then he says, 'Hear the thunder outside?' and of course I think he's off to the Age of Dreams again, and I smile and nod because I'm about to ask him once more about Carnifex, because I'm sure that if Robert's all abstracted, he's likely to think I'm someone else and let me ride the horse. But then I hear the thunder at a great distance and know that my uncle's hearing is perhaps the one faculty he hasn't lost. It's just then, like it's on cue or something, that the rain begins to fall and everybody hears it against the stones of the castle and the old man starts singing that 'rainy days are washdays, rainy days are washdays,' and the next thing I know, I'm down in the laundry with a handful of sheets, crouched over a washboard and tub."

  It was all I could do to keep from laughing aloud, and I wished devoutly that I could have seen the dazzling Dannelle di Caela scrubbing the castle linens. But I governed myself, looked alarmed, even pained, and I encouraged her to continue.

  "Well, it gets worse from here, Galen. Sir Robert fastened himself on the idea that I should do laundry as long as it rained, and as you know, it has been raining as though it will never stop. Two days into this, and I had lost almost all my interest in Carnifex. I was simply praying to any listening god that Sir Robert would not start taking in laundry from Palanthas or Kalaman just so he could keep me at the basin forever.

  "I thought of all kinds of ways to deliver myself-things dark and violent, terrible things to wish upon an uncle. I must confess that my temper got the better of me when my servants escorted me to and from that soap-smelling prison at all hours of the day."

  "Surely not!" I whispered, barely squelching my laughter, not trusting full voice.

  Dannelle nodded gravely, taking me entirely seriously.

  "I must confess that some of the linkboys did not fare well in my company."

  I nodded in turn and cleared my throat several times.

  "I thought dire things through long hours, Galen. But in the end, it seemed most fitting simply to run away. At any rate, you know the rest of the story, or at least it doesn't take a visionary to figure it out: how I went on the sly to the stable, intent on joining up with you and Ramiro, on leaving the castle grounds until Sir Robert-"

  "Forgot about laundry," Ramiro finished, admiration in his voice. "Perhaps even forgot that you were missing."

  I shook my head. Dannelle would have to be a fool to follow anyone into the prospects we faced. But it made no difference: With her gossip and veiled knowledge, and with my history of misdemeanor, the girl had me, and had me without options.

  So I resolved to make the best of it. After all, the night would come soon enough. And after all, there was room beneath my trail blanket for two…

  Possibilities, impossible and unthinkable under the watchful eyes of Robert and Bayard, now loomed inviting in the cloudy night.

  We were there until late the next morning, despite my coaxings and urgings. Ramiro lolled over a dozen eggs and three loaves of bread until the sun was high, when he finally seemed to remember that we were not off on some May Day outing but fully intent to go somewhere and do something.

  It was only then that our huddled little party to
ok to the road. Dannelle, Ramiro, and I rode at the head of the column, with the squires forming a bedraggled line behind us. The ride was tedious and silent, for Ramiro and I were equally hostile and equally quiet. The only sounds were the movement and murmurings of the horses and an occasional grunt or uncomfortable sigh from Alfric.

  Ahead of us spread the highlands like a wide, grass-covered bridge. Almost a mile across, they formed the only dry thoroughfare between the drenched Solamnic plains and the foothills of the Vingaard Mountains. Even so, the water was standing an inch deep on the ground beneath us.

  The grass blades swam in a dark pool.

  "People are assuming an awful lot on this expedition, Dannelle," I exclaimed when we stopped late in the afternoon. She, Ramiro, and I were still mounted, our horses nose to nose as the three of us waited for the squires to build a fire. As we spoke, a silent, efficient Oliver and a grumbling Alfric gathered whatever nearly dry wood they could find in this drenched terrain. Soon, on a damp spot under a thick-leafed vallenwood, with a horse blanket spread over the low-hanging branches as a sort of makeshift canopy, a smoky, halfhearted fire burned sullenly, while the rest of us smoldered on the rainy road.

  "I mean, first of all it was you, stowing away in full sight of everyone," I nagged. "Then it was Ramiro, intent on perpetual dinner last night, and no doubt thinking of a ruse to keep us here until late tomorrow morning. I suppose the squires will tell me soon that they have appointed me to take care of our armor, and the horses will claim they assumed that I had volunteered to carry each of them. My authority is eroding rapidly around here, and-"

  "Keeping the shimmer on your authority is not high on the list of my duties, Sir Galen," Ramiro interrupted, flashing a big, gap-toothed smile at Lady Dannelle. "Indeed, you might know from the Measure that 'it is the duty of subordinates to anticipate the wishes of their commanders,' and I assumed only that your authority would be… somewhat sensible about our travel and provision."

  "Wait just one minute, Ramiro!" I snapped coldly as both of us bristled and preened before the female of the species. But at that moment, there was a noise from the woods, shrilling through the dusky air like the cry of something haunted and forlorn. Ramiro's head snapped up, and he reached for his sword.

  The troll emerged from the forest.

  Chapter VIII

  I had never seen such a creature as this, and I hope devoutly never to see more of them.

  From a distance, it looked like a moving stone, dappled gray and green and old-moss brown. It emerged from the landscape behind us as though the ground itself had swelled and erupted something fierce and unnatural. The troll was a good nine feet tall at the shoulders and had the strides you would expect from such a monstrosity. Rapidly it closed the distance between us, loping over the wet highland ground in a low crouch, at a speed most frightening because it was not at all human. Halfway to us, it dropped onto all fours to move even faster.

  For an instant, things resembled those terrible moments in dreams when you cannot move as quickly as your attacker. Only alert little Oliver, the only one of us who was not preoccupied with Dannelle, saved us from being waylaid and disemboweled and eaten on the spot. Before Ramiro had his hand on the pommel, Oliver had mounted and reined his black horse toward the troll, his sword gleaming blue-white in his hand, a warning cry on his lips.

  For a moment, the troll slowed down, almost paused. The sight of a boy on horseback, armed and challenging, was enough to be distracting, though the thing was probably too dim-witted to be frightened. The monster gaped, its large, fanged jaws dropping open stupidly like faulty drawbridges. From where we sat on horse, only a dozen yards away, I could see its black, beady eyes widen.

  That was all the time we needed. At once, Ramiro broke from the column, guiding his stallion in a wide circle around the creature. It took his rather heavily burdened horse a few moments to close on the troll, but once Ramiro had waded into combat, there was little prospect that anyone would ask him to wade out. A quick sword stroke downward, followed by half the big man's weight, crashed into the troll's right arm and sliced on through effortlessly, severing the limb at the shoulder.

  The creature cried out-a breathless, dry crackling scream that sounded like the splitting of a monstrous vallenwood. I would have thought dismemberment was sufficient. It usually is, in polite circles. Of course, that shows you how much I knew about trolls. With its good left arm, it clawed at Ramiro, who stopped the onslaught neatly with his shield. Still, the big Knight shivered and rocked in the saddle, and the shield came away dented and misshapen.

  Nor was this some kind of last desperate surge of strength. Injured but by no means daunted, the troll turned slowly to face Ramiro, its little black eyes glittering with rage. The two of them locked into a careful, almost stately dance of violence, each one sizing up the other as Ramiro guided his horse in circles around the turning troll.

  In the lull and balance before conflict resumed, Oliver dismounted and, creeping behind the troll, scurried within a stride or two of the monster. I started to cry out, to call the boy back, but he was moving so rapidly that had I shouted or spoken, my words could have done nothing but alert the troll to his whereabouts. Rushing across the muddy ground, the boy stooped, grunted, and lifted the severed arm to his shoulder. Staggering only a second under the considerable burden, Oliver sprang out of reach before the troll turned around.

  Even as he carried it, the arm was sprouting a new shoulder, the shoulder widening and spreading toward the enormous torso it would regenerate in a matter of minutes.

  The neck and head began to form and assemble, mottled gray ears and nose arising from the writhing flesh like a shape emerging from water or stone. With a last, heroic surge of strength, Oliver hurled the thing into the campfire, where the flames leapt hungrily over the knotted skin of the thing.

  Alfric, Dannelle, and I let out a collective gasp. Safe on our horses, a gallop away from sword or fire, we stared at one another in consternation. Almost at once, my mind raced to more urgent questions.

  Such as what earthly good I was serving Ramiro at this fainthearted distance.

  There was no telling how long my indecision would have lasted had not Lily started and kicked out violently, almost throwing me into the mud; then, before I could do anything, she lurched forward into the mill of claw and tooth and metal that was rising again in front of me, as Ramiro wheeled his stallion and came at the troll again, sword raised.

  A brief glance back over my shoulder before the action closed around me revealed Dannelle, still seated astride her palfrey, holding a riding crop in her hand.

  With which she had no doubt basted my steed.

  There was no time for prayer, or even profanity. I turned back around and looked into the mottled, enormous face of the thing, which had risen to full height, towering over Lily's head, its remaining hand poised above me, ready, no doubt, to descend and segment the newest Solamnic Knight.

  I whooped, ducked, and felt a swift wind pass over my head.

  Up against its dry, leathery chest, I set my hand and pushed. Nothing moved. It was like swimming through metal. I wondered briefly how my body would appear when my head looked at it from somewhere over in the bushes.

  The prospect was enough to send me tumbling over Lily's flank onto the soggy ground with a splash. I scrambled quickly to my feet and wiped myself off.

  There were Ramiro and troll everywhere I looked, and as I spun around frantically, tugging at my scabbard for the sword that seemed riveted there, I discovered there was frenzy even in the places I wasn't looking.

  I knew that what had been serious before had now fallen critical. For the troll had unhorsed Ramiro, and as the big Knight struggled for footing like a capsized turtle, the monster had suddenly turned its attention to me.

  All nine feet of it towered above me, and it drew so close that I could smell the moss and ordure on its skin.

  For the first time since I could remember, I was tunneled into a corner, witho
ut resource or lie.

  As the big thing came at me, teeth bared, I fumbled with my sword.

  It would not come.

  I closed my eyes.

  In that brown darkness, I heard the sound of scuffling and shrieks.

  I opened my eyes, and Dannelle was astraddle the troll's back, dagger in hand. Down plunged the dagger into the fleshy neck of the monster, and up and down again, while the stupid, surprised look on the thing's face turned suddenly to something like understanding, and it twisted, tossing her into the mud.

  I had no time for chivalry. One desperate tug at the sword broke the leather thong that had held my sword in the scabbard and brought the blade whining into the open air. I spun it above my head and lunged upward at the troll's midsection. Fully aware that the thing could easily handle a severed arm, I was looking to make contact with a more delicate appendage.

  Instead, my blade glanced harmlessly against the creature's knee, shaving off perhaps an inch of its gnarled skin but doing little more damage. Still, it seemed I had been close enough to make the creature think I knew what I was doing. Quickly it backed away from me, gibbering. Off to my side, I heard Ramiro finally rising to his feet, and I drew my knife, standing my ground as the troll retreated.

  As quickly as it had set upon us, the creature was gone. Growling, whining, scrambling over felled trees and slipping in the mud and the wet grass, it scrambled back into the woods.

  In triumph, I turned toward the others. It seemed for a moment that the teachings of the Measure I had pondered and disputed were proven right at last-that an adversary, no matter its size and meanness, will back down when it is faced with spunk and stamina and, above all, righteousness.

  So I was going to tell them all, until I saw Dannelle and Oliver, holding high the flaming torches that had scared away my monstrous opponent.

  Most of them had accounted well for themselves in their first test. Ramiro, of course, had backed up his bluster with a good sword hand, and Dannelle had shown more courage than I was entitled to expect. Little Oliver, the best of us in this, whom I would have thought unprepared for either travel or troll, had shown himself resourceful, smart, and brave in knowing that the things regenerate and that fire was the weapon to use against them.