Saga of Menyoral: Hard Luck

by Ray, M. A.

  Vandis held out his palms, at least a yard apart. "Sticky buns," he said, gesturing with one. "Forest," he said, lifting the other.

  Dingus shook his head. "Forest." He held out one palm. "Sticky buns." He laid the other on top of it.

  "You're telling me you can do that."

  "I had yeast, they'd be on right now. Listen, who you think did all the cooking at my house?"

  "I would have assumed your mother."

  "Ma?" Dingus snorted. "Shit no. Gimme your bowl now. Please," he added, when Vandis scowled.

  "Better." Vandis handed it over. Dingus put half the squirrels and mushrooms into it, and half into his own. Then he started frying batter in the grease. Vandis had to admit it smelled wonderful: meaty, with overtones of garlic and a whiff of earth from the mushrooms. He selected a squirrel leg and bit gingerly in. It tasted as good as anything he'd had up at HQ, and better than anything he'd gotten from a tavern. He had the bone clean before a round of fry bread landed on top of the bowl, and that was... "Yeast, you said? And lard?"

  A slow smile worked across Dingus's face. He flipped his own fry bread. "Yeah. Couple other things, maybe. We could use some side bacon. Hard cheese. More flour and cornmeal."

  "What about sugar?"

  "I never used it. I could do with some maple syrup though. I mean, I can do for us without all that," he added hastily. "Leastways, 'til winter comes close, we don't really need none—I mean, any of this stuff we got here. I can do better with it, is all." He moved the skillet off the fire and sat down with his own dinner. Vandis scooped some of the mushrooms and greens onto the fry bread, and shuddered with pleasure at the taste.

  "Why didn't you tell me you could cook?"

  "I told you I can do for myself."

  "And you meant everything for yourself."

  "Pretty much."

  After they'd finished eating, Dingus poured out a cup of coffee for Vandis and stacked up all the dirty dishes.

  "You cooked," Vandis said, standing up. He took the stack out of Dingus's hands and gave him the cup of coffee instead. "I sat and watched. Now I'll wash, and you get to sit and watch."

  "You don't gotta—"

  "This is a dictatorship, but it's a benevolent one. Sit."

  "What does that mean?"

  Vandis rolled up his tunic sleeves. "It means you don't have a choice except to do what I tell you, but it'll be to your advantage to obey."

  Dingus sat down and sipped at the coffee. For the first time in probably twenty-five years, Vandis washed dishes, and that was how it went from then on. He could hardly believe the difference in the boy—his boy. Dingus still spoke softly and he was damned twitchy if Vandis put a hand on his shoulder, but he’d poked his head out of his shell, at least around Vandis, and damned if he wasn’t better by ten miles than any other Squire in the history of the Knights. He kept Vandis’s kit and his own meticulously clean (except for the swords, which Vandis still kept in their blanket); he set up camp efficiently every evening and struck it again in the morning more neatly than Vandis would have bothered to do. The sticky buns were a religious experience.

  He could hunt, too. His boast about following a deer wasn’t a boast at all. It was a laughable understatement. Vandis could count on one hand the number of Masters who could track and hunt like Dingus did—and Vandis wasn’t one of them. One day he’d followed his Squire on the trail of a buck and watched, struck dumb, from the brush as Dingus walked softly up to his quarry and laid a hand on its flank before slashing its jugular with terrible, pinpoint accuracy. Eagle Eye hadn’t left much for Vandis to teach. As they worked their way toward Galbraith Castle, Vandis began to feel Dingus out on counter-tracking, and to show him how to shake pursuit.

  As yet, the lessons hadn’t included any weapons training. Vandis had planned on it, but he didn’t go through with it, because the only thing about Dingus that didn't seem different was the nightmares. For the most part, they came and went quickly, so that Vandis would wake up in the middle of the night, hear a groan or two, and settle back to sleep. He worried, of course he did, but what could he do? Then, one night about a week out from Elwin's Ford, Dingus had an absolute hell of a dream: thrashing around and begging in his sleep, "... no, please ... please ..." Vandis ground his teeth. Dingus pleaded in hituleti.

  "Dingus," he called across the camp. "Wake up. You're dreaming."

  "... no ..." Dingus moaned, and Vandis pushed back his blanket and got up to cross the camp, skirting the coals in the firepit. Aside from their faint glow, it was pitch-black under the trees, and Dingus's panicked sounds slashing out of the darkness were enough to set Vandis's nerves on edge.

  "Dingus," he said. "Dingus, wake up!"

  "Don't, please don't, let me go!"

  He crouched by the boy's bedroll and reached out to shake him. The moment his hand made contact with a skinny shoulder, Dingus went wild, hitting and screaming. He clocked Vandis across the jaw with all the force of terror. Vandis sprawled backward. He tasted blood, and felt a warm trickle from the corner of his mouth.

  What else could he do? He stepped over Dingus's body, dropped to his knees, and wrestled the twiggy arms until they were crossed over the boy's chest. Even then he had to lean on the arms with both hands and all his weight; Dingus was bathed in cold sweat and inhumanly strong, and Vandis had the idea he was wrestling all the demons in that thin frame. "This is Vandis," he shouted. "Dingus. It's Vandis. You're safe. You are safe!"

  Finally, Dingus jerked, shuddered, and opened his eyes. His chest heaved up and down as he breathed. For a moment he gazed at Vandis, shock written all over his face, and then he turned aside to stare into the darkness.

  Vandis grabbed Dingus's jaw and made the boy look back at him. "You are safe," he said fiercely. "The Wayfarer's with you and so am I." He stood and went back to his bedroll, but he'd learned his lesson. He didn't try to wake Dingus again, not from one of those; they passed more quickly without interference, but in the dead of night sometimes, when Vandis woke to hear it, his soul groaned along. The lack of weapons use was a flaw in the training, and he knew it, but his heart turned from even the thought of striking his own—especially because Dingus had been on the receiving end of far more than his share of violence.

  Besides, during the day things were better, getting better all the time. Vandis had requested deep hoods to be sewn on both of Dingus's jerkins. With his ears covered, Dingus appeared to be nothing more than an exceptionally tall young man, as long as nobody looked too closely at those big hitul eyes. Nobody really had the chance. A lifetime's habits had Dingus hunching in on himself the moment they passed into the tiniest hamlet, and his gaze stuck to the ground as if glued there. Being that northern Wealaia had a mostly human population, the towns were larger and closer together—and while Vandis's leaf usually rode under a glove, his Squire’s badge excited people. Little children yelled, "Knights!" and descended on them in howling waves. The first couple of times it had happened, Dingus went stiff, but he loosened once he figured out what they were howling for: stories. Vandis's custom was to always give in, after a few minutes' begging, that was. He liked to have the kids on, pretend he was too tired, pretend he didn't have any stories to give. Little ones were the toughest audience, and he felt the stories were better received after a little anticipation.

  Dingus spoiled his fun completely. Vandis couldn't figure out what it was about children, but Dingus was powerless to resist. "Tell us a story, tell us a story!" they'd plead, and before Vandis could squeak in even one good tease, Dingus got down on their level, crouching or on one knee, and stuffed their tiny ears with magic. Vandis wouldn't have known it to look at him, either, but it seemed as if he had hundreds. He told at least two to the children in every town, and Vandis hadn't heard the same one twice. He'd started looking forward to his nightly piece of Eagle Eye's saga, and, truthfully, to the towns they passed through on their way to Castle Galbraith, because to the little ones, Dingus always told fairy stories. Gonden the Hedgehog and the
Pixie Queen; Cat-a-Cloak; The Raggedy Prince; The Dog Guards; The Princess's Perfect Purple Posy; The Maze of the Unicorn; and more besides. The heroes were brave, the princesses lovely, and the animals all spoke like men.

  It drove Vandis to outdo himself every night across the fire. Dingus knew enough children's tales for a dragon to choke on; Vandis made a point to tell him the stories, or versions of stories, that were not for children. All the stories of the human gods and goddesses, their foibles, their loves. Ciregor's Place in the Sun, about Naheel Queen of Heaven's choice of consort. Akeere and Vard Try Love, a silly tale in which the Lady and the Brewlord decided They were better as friends (though that wasn't a particular favorite of Vandis's). Margaret Dragonslayer, the girl who gave up her maidenhead for a chance to put a knife through a dragon. Giles and Brodnax, the warrior and magus, partners in more than one way. The older, more honest versions of the happily-ever-afters Dingus gave the children.

  Dingus always asked him for "one more, please," but he wasn't sure how much of an impression he was making until he heard his hooded Squire, in a fountain square, deliver to a pack of children a masterfully edited-for-audience version of Margaret Dragonslayer's tale, in which Margaret stayed a maiden, braved the dragon's flaming breath, and put a sword in the worm itself—instead of seducing it and driving a stiletto through its transformed, human heart while it slept afterward. Dingus didn't appear to notice the adults stopping to listen with their arms full of parcels and their eyes full of wonder, but Vandis hadn't missed them.

  "That was a hell of a good Margaret," Vandis told him later, on the way out of town. "What made you think to fix her up for the kids?"

  "Well, 'cause of the way you've been telling me the fairy stories. I thought, if they got cleaned up, why not Margaret Dragonslayer? She was real brave either way: the true way, or mine."

  "I think your way might've been a better story." He wasn't sure how Dingus would react, but he had to say something sometime. "Kids," he said, "are usually the last kind of audience we expect a Squire to be able to hold. Kids," he said, "are damned difficult. Short attention spans. Imaginations better than any story. A hellish audience. And you pick them up in the palm of your hand. Do you hear what I'm telling you?"

  "Kids like my stories?" Dingus said, hopefully.

  Vandis sighed. "If you tried any harder to miss my point, you'd hit it by accident. Knights tell stories. To everyone. It encourages the spread of information, and it’s as much a part of being a Knight of the Air as the woodcraft. No more excuses."

  "Aw, Vandis—"

  "That's not the answer I'm looking for."

  "Yes, Vandis," Dingus muttered.

  "You can do this. If you need to, put everyone in short pants, but you can do this, and you will. If Margaret—who was sixteen, incidentally, when she killed the Conqueror Worm—can let a dragon up her skirt, you can tell a story to a taproom of receptive adults."

  "Yes, Vandis."

  It was best to start small. The next night, at a wayside inn, Dingus told a different dragon story: one of his grandfather's, which he had chosen when Vandis told him "your favorite." Vandis softened them up with a few tall tales first, and they were a little drunk by the time Dingus stood up to tell, so Vandis was the only one who noticed how his knees were knocking. He worked into it, though, and as Eagle Eye searched for a shot, he started moving around. When the dragon belched fire at Brother Fox, he'd gotten so deeply into the telling that he grabbed Vandis's glass of whiskey off the table, picked up a candle, and spat his own gout of flame into the taproom dim. Luckily for both of them, he didn't set anything on fire, and although it was a close call with that carter's hat, they got a free room for the night.

  They both refused the flea-bitten bed and laid out bedrolls on the floor. Vandis grinned to himself. Dingus was ready for Kerwin Galbraith's Great Hall and no two ways about it, but later, when he lay there listening to his Squire thrash and groan in the iron grip of an evil dream, he wondered if he could be blamed for wishing Dingus were less than Xavier, less than the Lady's chosen. For once in his life, Vandis wanted to expect less from someone, and couldn’t.

  Girl Trouble

  Castle Galbraith

  Dingus tried to ignore his sweaty palms as he went to one knee in Lord Galbraith’s great hall. It was the first time he’d told a story in front of so many people; the dinner crowd, or even the supper crowd, at a little pub somewhere didn’t hardly count as an audience anymore. Imagine they’re little kids, he kept telling himself, like Vandis kept telling him.

  “Eagle Eye put one arrow to his bow,” he said as he pulled the imaginary bow, “and drew back the string. The huge Worm’s yellow eye gleamed while it watched Brother Fox, down there in front of it, dancing back and forth. He never went past the dragon’s field of view, so it never moved its head, but it had to keep flicking its eyes. Eagle Eye was so afraid it would see him that his hands shook.”

  Didn’t take any acting to make it look like his hands were shaking either. Damn, he was nervous. “The world turned small when he focused in on that eyeball, focused on getting his shot lined up perfect. All of a sudden the monster’s head whipped around! Brother Fox must’ve come too far to that side, but Eagle Eye wasn’t thinking about that. All he thought about was adjusting his aim, and as sudden as the dragon turned he had his target exactly right. He loosed his arrow right into the eye, into the black slice in the middle.”

  Dingus let his imaginary arrow go, too, and dropped his hands. Real slow, he started to straighten up. “It seemed like it went slow, even though it wasn’t even the first part of a heartbeat. He saw the dragon wave its forefoot to block the shot, but when the foot came down, then he saw the fletching go deep into that eye, all the way in ’til it disappeared.”

  By the time he finished that bit he was standing up straight. Almost there, he kept thinking, almost there. “Down below on the cave floor, Brother Fox saw too, and cheered hey-la-hey! But the dragon didn’t even seem to notice. It must’ve thought it batted the arrow away—and now it came on toward Eagle Eye, jaws wide open, breathing hot as an oven and smelling like dead meat. Eagle Eye started scrambling down the pile of rocks, but the Worm of Shirith was so big, he wouldn’t be able to dodge in time. He tucked in his elbows—” Dingus did the same. “—and his head, and flung himself limp down the boulders. Oh, he could feel himself cracking while he bounced and rolled, and when he heard a horrible crash like a rockslide he was sure as anything he was about to die.”

  He paused for breath, maybe a little longer than he needed to, but nobody in the hall said a word. “He landed hard and slid—he was on the floor of the cave! His head was turning ’round and ’round, and he couldn’t hardly see. When he tried to get up his leg gave him a lightning strike and went right out from under him. It hurt so bad it wouldn’t hold him, but he could hear Brother Fox shouting hey-la-hey, shouting that he’d done it. He was gasping when he flopped over onto his back, but the last thing Eagle Eye saw before he passed out was that dragon draped out dead with its mouth cracked open wide over the pile of boulders. The last thing he thought was that he’d saved his prince.”

  Dingus shut his mouth. Everyone was looking at him, even that dumb-ass Everett, with round shiny eyes. “Uh,” he said, fidgeting, “the end.”

  He looked to the high table, where Vandis sat with Lord Galbraith and his family. Lady Galbraith whispered to her husband, and he lifted his hand and wiggled his first two fingers at Dingus: come here. Dingus gulped, wiped his hands on his pants, and went to the front of the table. When he got there Lady Galbraith was smiling.

  “I enjoyed that very much,” she said. “I hope you’ll tell us another one about Eagle Eye soon.”

  “Yes, m’lady,” Dingus said, making sure not to mumble.

  “He can tell another one tonight if you want him to,” Vandis said, and Dingus felt a little like the Worm of Shirith turned its eyes on him, and also a lot like throttling Vandis. He couldn’t keep the horrified look of betrayal off his
face.

  Lady Galbraith laughed, but it wasn’t a mean laugh. “Another time. Thank you, Dingus.”

  “Thank you, m’lady,” he said gratefully, and when Lord Galbraith nodded he sketched a bow back and started to go to his seat, way at the back of the hall with the ’prentices and the potboys—at least, until Vandis cleared his throat.

  He went back, sure the Sword of Criticism was about to fall on his neck, but Vandis only pushed something across the table to him, a tiny cube wrapped in parchment: a piece of caramel candy. He must’ve done good tonight to get one of those. Sugar was real expensive and Vandis had a crazy sweet tooth so they didn’t get wasted on Dingus too often. He grinned at Vandis, who nodded in a real satisfied way, and grabbed the caramel before he went and sat down. “Hey, Thingus,” said that dumb-ass Everett when he passed the soldiers from the garrison, “nice story.” It sort of killed the moment because Everett and all his cronies laughed. Dingus sure didn’t think it was funny. He wanted to give the finger, but he didn’t dare. He knew Everett’s type; if he made the gesture, he’d pay later, and since (he hoped) he and Vandis would be gone by next week, it wasn’t worth the price.

  Still, he got a little of his own back when he got closer to the table with his empty spot, even if Everett never noticed. That girl, the one with the carrot curls he’d seen every day sneaking around to watch weapons practice, stared at him with her sky-blue eyes so wide he thought they’d pop right out of her head. Her wide pink mouth rounded in an O of amazement. He thought she was real pretty, so for sure she wouldn’t give him directions to the privy. He’d never before said nothing to her, but now he gave her a big grin. She blushed redder than red and looked down at the table. Maybe he would’ve even talked to her, but the lady sitting next to her looked to be her ma, and they had the same big arms and broad shoulders, only her ma’s freckly arms were bigger.

  All the same Dingus sat down feeling better about the world than he had when he got up to tell about Eagle Eye. He didn’t even mind that he’d have to go sleep in the barracks again tonight—not much, anyway.